A  Study 

in  \Vashington  Society 
and  Polibics 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


DESPOTISM   AND   DEMOCRACY 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

A   STUDY   IN   WASHINGTON 

SOCIETY   AND   POLITICS 


NEW    YORK 

McCLURE,    PHILLIPS 

AND    COMPANY 

MCMIII 


COPYRIGHT,   1903.  BY 

McCLURE,  PHILLIPS  &  CO. 
COPYRIGHT,  1903,  BY  CDRTIS  PUBLISHING  Co. 

Published,  June,  1903,  R 


CONTENTS 


<*>?<?  7 
Sid 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    MEN  AND  WOMEN 3 

II.    THE  RISE    OF  A    PREMIER    AND   SOME- 
THING ABOUT  Two  HEARTS      ...     30 

III.  DOWN    AMONG  THE   CAPTAINS  AND   THE 

SHOUTING 48 

IV.  GOVERNMENT  WITHOUT  THE  CONSENT  OF 

THE  GOVERNED 73 

^0        V.    A  RAPTUROUS  HOUR  WHICH  WAS  RUDELY 

INTERRUPTED 91 

VI.    DEVILS    AND   ANGELS    FIGHT    FOR    THE 

SOULS  OF  MEN     . 112 

VII.    How  VARIOUS  PERSONS    SPENT  A    MAY 

SUNDAY  IN  WASHINGTON     .     .     .     .130 

VIII.    A   NEW   SENATOR — A   RAILWAY  JOUR- 
NEY— THE  ROSE  OF  THE  FIELD  AND 

THE    ROSES    OF    THE    GARDEN      .       .       .148 

IX.    CONCERNING  THINGS  NOT   TO  BE   MEN- 
TIONED IN  THE  SOCIETY  JOURNALS     .  172 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

X.    THERE     ARE    MEN    WHO     CAN    RESIST 

EVERYTHING    EXCEPT   TEMPTATION      .  203 

XI.    IN    THE    SWEET  -  Do  -  NOTHING    OF    THE 

SUMMER-TIME  ........  229 

XII.    WHAT  is  IT  TO  BE  HONEST  IN  POLITCCS 

AND  TRUE  IN  LOVE? 256 

XIII.    WAR  AND  PEACE  .  288 


[vi] 


DESPOTISM   AND   DEMOCRACY 


Chapter  One 

MEN    AND    WOMEN 

Certain  aspects  of  Washington,  both  outward  and 
inward,  are  like  Paris.  Especially  is  this  true  of 
the  outward  aspect  on  a  wet  night,  when  the  circles 
of  yellow-flaring  gas  lamps  are  reflected  in  the  shin- 
ing expanse  of  asphalt,  when  the  keen-flashing 
electric  lights  blaze  upon  the  white  facades  of 
great  buildings  and  the  numerous  groups  of  stat- 
uary against  a  black  background  of  shrubbery, 
and  when  some  convention  or  other  brings  crowds 
of  people  to  swarm  upon  the  usually  dull  Washing- 
ton streets.  The  Honourable  Geoffrey  Thorndyke, 
M.C.,  spoke  of  this  Parisian  resemblance  to  his 
colleague,  the  Honourable  Julian  Crane,  M.C., 
as  they  sat  together  on  a  warm,  rainy  April  night 
in  the  bay-window  of  Thorndyke's  apartment. 
The  rooms  were  lofty,  wide,  and  dark,  according 
to  the  style  of  forty  years  ago,  and  overlooked  one 
of  those  circular  parks  in  Washington  which  fash- 
[3] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
ion  seemed  only  to  have  patronised  briefly  in  order 
to  desert  permanently.  But  the  rooms  and  the  sit- 
uation suited  Thorndyke  perfectly,  and  he  had 
spent  there  all  of  the  five  terms  of  Congress  which 
he  had  served.  Thorndyke's  remaining  in  that 
locality  secretly  surprised  Crane,  a  man  from  the 
Middle  West.  He  himself  had  an  apartment  in  a 
modish  hotel,  which  cost  him  more  than  he  could  af- 
ford and  was  not  half  so  comfortable  as  Thorn- 
dyke's.  But  then  Thorndyke  was  born  to  that 
which  Crane  was  toilsomely  achieving — for  this  vig- 
orous product  of  the  Middle  West  was  sent  into  the 
world  with  enormous  ambitions  of  all  sorts,  and  not 
the  least  of  these  was  social  ambition.  And  combined 
with  this  social  ambition  was  a  primitive  enjoy- 
ment of  society  such  as  the  Indian  gets  out  of  his 
pow-wows  with  unlimited  tobacco  and  fire-water. 
Crane,  although  bred  on  the  prairie,  cared  nothing 
for  fields  and  woods  and  the  skies  of  night  and  the 
skies  of  morning.  Men,  women,  and  their  affairs 
alone  interested  him.  Thorndyke,  on  the  contrary, 
although  town-bred,  cared  for  the  God-made 
things,  and  at  that  very  moment  was  studying  with 
interest  the  great  tulip-tree,  dark  and  dank  before 
[4] 


MEN    AND    WOMEN 

his  window.  When  he  made  the  remark  about  Wash- 
ington having  sometimes  a  look  of  Paris,  he  added : 

"And  I  expected  to  be  in  Paris  at  this  very  mo- 
ment but  for  this" — here  he  interjected  an  impolite 
adjective — "extra  session.  However,"  he  contin- 
ued, good-humouredly,  "I  hardly  expect  you  to 
agree  with  me,  considering  your  late  streak  of  luck 
— or,  rather,  your  well-deserved  promotion,  as  I 
shall  call  it  on  the  floor  of  the  House." 

Crane  acknowledged  this  with  a  smile  and  a  re- 
quest for  another  cigar,  if  possible,  not  so  bad  as 
the  last.  He  was  tall  and  well  made,  and  had  a 
head  and  face  like  the  bust  of  the  young  Augustus . 
in  the  Vatican  gallery.  He  was  elaborately 
groomed,  manicured  and  all,  judging  that  time 
spent  on  beauty  like  his  was  not  thrown  away.  In 
contrast  to  this  classic  beauty  was  Thorndyke — 
below,  rather  than  above,  the  middle  height,  with 
scanty  hair  and  light  blue  eyes,  and  who  could  not 
be  called  handsome  by  the  mother  that  bore  him. 
But  when  women  were  about,  Geoffrey  Thorndyke 
could  always  put  the  handsomest  man  in  the  room 
behind  the  door. 

And  he  had  a  peculiarly  soft  and  musical  voice 
[5] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
which  made  everything  he  said  sound  pleasant, 
even  when  he  proceeded  to  make  uncomfortable  re- 
marks about  the  late  turn  in  national  affairs  which 
had  sent  Crane's  political  fortunes  upward  with  a 
bound. 

"For  my  part,"  he  said,  knocking  the  ash  off  his 
cigar,  "I  have  lived  long  enough  and  read  enough 
to  know  that  such  a  stupendous  opportunity  as 
your  party  has  now  is  generally  fatal  to  that  party 
before  the  next  Presidential  election.  See — in  the 
middle  of  a  Presidential  term,  you  carry  the  Con- 
gressional elections  by  a  close  shave.  The  new  Con- 
gress is  not  expected  to  meet  for  thirteen  months 
afterward.  The  Brazilian  matter  reaches  an  acute 
stage,  and  the  President  is  forced  to  call  an  extra 
session  in  April  instead  of  the  regular  meeting  in 
December.  Of  course,  the  Brazilian  matter  will 
come  out  all  right.  Any  party,  at  any  time,  in  any 
civilised  country,  is  capable  of  managing  a  foreign 
affair  in  which  all  the  people  think  the  same  way. 
But  when  it  comes  to  domestic  affairs — my  dear 
fellow,  when  the  President  saw  how  things  were  go- 
ing and  that  he  really  could  invite  you  to  make 
fools  of  yourselves  for  the  next  fourteen  months 
[6] 


MEN    AND    WOMEN 

before  the  Presidential  convention,  it  was  beer  and 
skittles  to  him." 

Crane  turned  in  his  chair  and  sighed.  The  in- 
tricacies of  national  politics,  the  wheels  within 
wheels,  the  way  of  putting  out  a  pawn  to  be  taken, 
puzzled  and  confused  him.  It  had  seemed  to  him  the 
most  unmixed  political  good  to  him  when  his  party 
had  secured  control  of  the  House  at  an  internation- 
al crisis.  It  could  vote  supplies  with  splendid  pro- 
fusion, it  could  shout  for  the  flag,  it  could  claim 
the  credit  for  everything  done,  while  the  Senate 
and  the  Administration  being  in  opposition,  very 
little  real  responsibility  attached  to  anything  the 
House  might  leave  undone.  And  when  the  man 
who  was  certain  to  be  the  caucus  nominee  for 
Speaker  had  sent  for  Crane  at  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning  and  had  offered  him  the  chairmanship  of 
the  Committee  on  Foreign  Affairs  to  succeed  Thorn- 
dyke,  Crane  had  felt  his  cup  of  joy  to  be  overflow- 
ing. Everything  was  in  his  favour.  Without  the 
least  doubt  about  his  powers,  which  were  considera- 
ble, he  had  some  diffidence  on  the  score  of  expe- 
rience; but  Thorndyke,  who  would  be  the  ranking 
member  of  the  minority  on  the  committee,  would 
[7] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
help  him  out,  quietly  and  generously.  In  the  midst 
of  his  elation  Crane  remembered  that  Thorndyke 
had  not  been  wholly  satisfied  with  the  chairmanship 
of  that  great  committee — and  Thorndyke  had  been 
suffered  to  exercise  a  degree  of  power  far  greater 
than  Crane  felt  would  be  permitted  him  for  some 
time  to  come.  On  most  Congressional  committees 
there  are  two  or  three  men  who  have  come  into  the 
world  booted  and  spurred,  while  the  remainder  were 
born  saddled  and  bridled.  Thorndyke  was  one  of 
those  who  got  into  the  saddle  early,  and  yet,  the 
saddle  or  the  steed  had  not  seemed  to  suit  his  taste 
exactly.  Crane  spoke  of  this,  and  bluntly  asked 
the  reason. 

"Because,"  replied  Thorndyke,  coolly,  "there 
was  no  more  promotion  for  me — and  I  was  made 
to  accept  it,  whether  I  wanted  it  or  not.  You  see, 
although  the  Constitution  guarantees  every  State 
a  republican  form  of  government,  all  the  States 
don't  have  it.  Mine  hasn't,  nor  has  yours.  My 
boss,  however,  is  a  good  deal  more  astute  than  your 
boss.  Mine  never  lets  any  man  have  what  he  wants. 
Unluckily,  when  I  was  a  Congressional  tenderfoot 
I  wanted  the  earth  and  the  fulness  thereof,  and  I 
[8] 


MEN    AND    WOMEN 

worked  for  it  as  well  as  I  knew  how.  When  the  next 
nominating  convention  was  held  I  was  left  out  in 
the  cold  world.  I  waited  two  years.  Then,  being 
still  green,  with  all  the  courage  of  inexperience,  I 
went  to  my  boss.  I  said  to  him  that  I  wished  to  get 
back  in  public  life,  and  to  stay  there — and  he 
said " 

Thorndyke  paused  and  blushed  a  little. 

"Out  with  it,"  said  Crane,  encouragingly. 

"My  boss  has  some  extraordinary  virtues — all 
real  bosses  have — among  them  a  very  engaging 
frankness.  He  said,  without  beating  about  the 
bush  a  moment,  that  it  wasn't  his  policy  to  promote 
men  who  might — who  might  one  day  get  a  little 
too  big  for  him.  That  was  about  what  he  said. 
He  told  me  if  I  would  be  satisfied  with  a  seat 
in  Congress  and  the  chairmanship  of  a  good  com- 
mittee, I  could  have  it  as  long  as  I  kept  out  of  State 
politics,  and  didn't  make  myself  offensively  promi- 
nent at  national  conventions.  Then  he  proceeded 
to  advise  me  as  Cardinal  Wolsey  advised  Thomas 
Cromwell.  He  charged  me  to  fling  away  ambition, 
and  reminded  me  that  by  that  sin  the  angels  fell, 
and  likewise  a  number  of  very  imprudent  young  pol- 
[9] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
iticians — I  don't  use  the  word  statesman  any  more — 
all  over  the  State.  I  squirmed,  and  the  old  fellow 
grinned  and  told  me  if  at  any  time  I  hankered 
after  a  foreign  mission  I  could  get  it.  I  thanked 
him  and  told  him  I  had  no  fancy  to  be  buried  until 
I  was  dead,  and  at  last  we  compromised  on  his  first 
proposition.  I  like  the  life — God  knows  why.  The 
salary  is  enough  for  me  to  live  on  and  support  an 
invalid  sister — all  I  have  in  the  world.  I  have  sense 
enough  to  see  that  I  am  better  off  than  if  I  gave  a 
loose  rein  to  my  ambition  and  was  forever  chasing 
rainbows.  A  man  without  fortune,  who  lives  upon 
the  hopes  of  an  office  which  will  beggar  him  if  he 
gets  it " 

"That's  it !"  cried  Crane,  suddenly  interrupting, 
his  eyes  lighting  up  with  anxiety.  "That's  it, 
Thorndyke.  I  know  all  about  it.  I'll  tell  you  the 
whole  story — the  story  I  never  even  told  my 
wife " 

There  is  something  touching  and  appealing 
when  a  man  lays  bare  his  wounds  and  bruises. 
Thorndyke,  without  saying  a  word,  gave  a  look,  a 
slight  movement  of  the  head  that  brought  out 
Crane's  story.  He  told  it  readily  enough — he  had 
[10] 


MEN    AND    WOMEN 

the  mobile  mouth  and  quick  imagination  of  the  or- 
ator, and  he  was  always  eloquent  when  he  was  talk- 
ing about  himself. 

"You  see,  when  I  got  the  nomination  to  Congress 
it  was  that  or  bankruptcy.  For  two  months  before 
the  convention  was  held  I'd  walk  the  floor  half  the 
night,  and  the  other  half  I'd  pretend  to  be  asleep, 
to  keep  my  wife  from  breaking  her  heart  with  anx- 
iety. Annette  is  a  good  woman — too  good  for  me. 
I  had  neglected  my  law  practice  for  politics  until  I 
had  no  practice  left,  and  then  I  was  transported  to 
Congress  and  Heaven  and  five  thousand  dollars  a 
year.  I  determined  to  do  two  things — cut  a  wide 
swath  in  Washington  and  save  one-third  of  my  sal- 
ary." 

"Great  fool — you,"  murmured  Thorndyke,  sym- 
pathetically. 

"But — I  didn't  know  what  a  wide  swath  was.  I 
didn't  know  anything  about  it.  I  came  to  Wash- 
ington and  brought  my  wife  and  three  children. 
We  went  to  a  boarding-house  on  Eleventh  Street — 
you  called  to  see  us  there." 

"Yes.   I  remember  thinking  Mrs.  Crane  the  pret- 
tiest, sweetest  woman  I  had  seen  that  season." 
[11] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
This  was  true,  for  Annette  Crane  had  the  beauty 
of  form,  of  colour,  of  sweetness  and  gentleness  to 
an  extraordinary  degree.  She  was  no  Perdita — no 
one  would  have  taken  her  for  a  princess  stolen  in 
infancy.  But  not  Ruth  in  the  harvest-field  was 
more  natural,  more  sweetly  graceful  than  this  lady 
from  Circleville,  somewhere  in  the  Middle  West. 

"Annette  admired  you  tremendously,"  contin- 
ued Crane,  in  the  easy  tone  of  a  man  who  knows  his 
wife  is  desperately  in  love  with  him,  and  thinks  her 
fully  justified.  "She  said  it  was  kind  of  you  to 
call.  Like  me,  she  thought  we  were  going  to  do 
wonderful  things — I  believe  she  used  to  pray  that 
our  hearts  might  not  be  hardened  by  our  social  tri- 
umphs. Well,  you  know  all  about  it.  We  were 
asked  to  the  President's  receptions,  and  my  wife 
called  on  the  Cabinet  officers'  families,  and  at  the 
houses  of  the  Senators  and  the  Representatives  from 
our  own  State.  We  were  asked  to  dinner  at  our 
junior  Senator's  house.  I  thought  it  would  be 
grand.  It  was,  in  a  way — the  old  man  is  pretty 
well  heeled — but  it  was  exactly  like  one  of  those 
banquets  a  Chamber  of  Commerce  gives  to  a  distin- 
guished citizen.  Annette  was  the  prettiest  woman 
[12] 


MEN    AND    WOMEN 

there,  but  she  didn't  wear  a  low-necked  gown  like 
the  other  women,  and  that  embarrassed  her.  In  the 
end  she  found  out  more  things  than  I  did.  She  said 
to  me  before  the  season  was  over : 

"  'Julian,  it's  not  being  rich  that  makes  people 
in  Washington.  If  it  were,  we  shouldn't  mind  not 
being  in  it.  But  there  are  plenty  of  people,  like  the 
Senator,  who  have  the  money  and  the  wish  to  make 
a  stir  socially — but  they  can't,  while  a  plenty  of 
poor  ones  do.  Look  at  Mr.  Thorndyke' — she  hit 
upon  you  the  first  man — 'he's  asked  everywhere, 
and  he  says  he  is  as  poor  as  a  church-mouse.  No, 
Julian,  to  be  as  you  would  wish  to  be  here,  needs 
not  only  the  money  we  haven't  got,  but  something 
else  we  haven't  got  and  can't  acquire,  so  let's  give 
it  up.  Another  winter  I'll  stay  in  Circleville — it 
will  be  better  for  the  children,  better  for  me,  better 
for  you' — for  I  own  up  to  having  been  deuced  surly 
all  that  winter.  So  we  adopted  that  plan,  and  An- 
nette has  never  been  to  Washington  since.  But — 
I'll  confess  this,  too — I  had  from  the  beginning  a 
fancy  to  see  the  inside  of  those  houses  where  the 
people  live  who  make  up  this  world  of  Washing- 
ton. It  wasn't  merely  idle  curiosity.  I  was  con- 
[13] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
vinced,  and  I  am  so  still,  that  the  number  and 
variety  of  people  in  Washington  must  make  these 
Washington  parlours — drawing-rooms,  you  call 
them — the  most  interesting  of  their  kind  in  the 
world.  Well — I've  got  into  some  of  them.  It's  a 
good  deal  easier  for  a  man  without  his  wife  than  a 
man  with  her ;  and  Thorndyke,  I  own  up,  I  am  be- 
witched. Oh,  it's  not  so  much  to  you ;  you've  known 
it  too  long,  and  seen  too  much  of  it  all  over  the 
world  to  know  how  it  strikes  a  man  born  and 
brought  up  until  he  is  thirty-five  years  old  in 
Circleville.  I  swear  when  I  get  a  dinner  invitation 
I  am  like  the  girls  out  our  way,  who  will  drive  twen- 
ty miles  in  a  sleigh  to  go  to  a  dance.  The  mere  look 
of  the  table — the  glass,  the  silver,  the  flowers — 
goes  to  my  head.  The  terrapin  intoxicates  me. 
Those  quick,  soft-moving  servants  fascinate  me. 
And  the  conversation !  They  let  me  talk  all  I 
want." 

"You  are  a  vastly  entertaining  fellow  in  your 
own  mental  bailiwick,"  interjected  Thorndyke. 

"And   the  women!      So  unaffected — so  uncon- 
scious of  their  clothes !    And  such  listeners !    I  have 
never  been  to  a  stupid  dinner  in  Washington.    And 
[14] 


MEN    AND    WOMEN 

the  club — I  never  knew  a  man  of  leisure  in  my  life 
until  I  came  to  Washington.  I  daresay  you  think 
me  a  fool."  Crane  paused,  with  a  feeling  rare  to 
him  that  he  could  not  express  half  what  was  in  him, 
but  Thorndyke's  knowledge  supplied  the  rest. 

"No,  I  don't.     It  is  quite  as  you  say,  but  you 
are  taking  it  all  too  seriously." 

"Circleville,"  murmured  Crane. 

"Well,  three-fourths  of  these  people  you  so  ad- 
mire came  from  Circlevilles.  Forty  years  ago,  how 
many  of  them,  do  you  think,  had  a  servant  to  an- 
swer the  door-bell?  Just  consider,  my  dear  young 
friend,  that,  except  at  the  South,  servants  were  un- 
known to  a  large  proportion  of  the  American  peo- 
ple until  a  short  time  ago.  The  parents  of  these 
people  you  see  here,  with  eighteen-horse-power  au- 
tomobiles, and  with  crests  upon  their  writing-paper, 
their  carriages,  their  footmen's  buttons,  thought 
themselves  in  clover  when  they  could  afford  a  maid- 
of -all-work.  So  far,  they  are  merely  at  the  imita- 
tive stage.  Their  grandparents  were  pioneers  and 
lived  mostly  in  log  cabins,  and  although  the  three 
generations  are  divided  by  only  fifty  years,  it  is  as 
if  aeons  of  time  existed  between  them !  By  Jove !  It 
[15] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

is  one  of  the  most  astounding  things  in  American 
life !" 

"That's  so,"  replied  Crane.  "It  is  said  that  one- 
half  the  world  doesn't  know  how  the  other  half 
lives,  but  in  these  United  States  about  nine-tenths 
of  the  society  people  have  no  more  notion  how  their 
grandparents  lived  than  they  have  of  life  on  Mars 
or  Saturn.  I  went  to  a  wedding  the  other  day.  It 
was  magnificent  beyond  words.  The  two  young 
people  had  been  brought  up  in " 

"Barbaric  luxury,"  Thorndyke  interrupted. 
"It's  barbarous  to  bring  children  up  as  those  two 
were — I  know  whom  you  mean.  The  girl  had  her 
own  suite  of  rooms  almost  from  her  birth,  her  own 
maid,  her  own  trap.  Even  when  there  was  an  affec- 
tation of  simplicity  it  cost  enough  to  have  swamped 
her  grandfather's  general  store  at  Meekins's  Cross 
Roads,  where  he  laid  the  foundation  of  his  fortune. 
When  she  came  out  in  society  it  simply  meant  more 
of  everything.  No  daughter  of  the  Csesars  was 
ever  more  conscious  of  the  gulf  between  her  and  the 
common  people — I  say  common  people  with  the 
deepest  respect  for  the  term — than  this  girl  is  con- 
scious of  the  gulf  between  herself  and  the  class  to 
[16] 


MEN    AND    WOMEN 

which  her  grandparents  belonged.  The  young 
man's  story  was  the  same  da  capo,  except  that  he 
was  given  a  boy's  luxuries  instead  of  a  girl's.  It 
has  been  carefully  concealed  from  them  by  their 
parents  that  their  grandparents  swept,  dusted, 
chopped  wood,  traded  at  country  stores,  and  did 
all  those  plain  but  useful  and  respectable  things 
which  made  their  fortune.  To  hear  them  talk  about 
'grandmamma'  and  'grandpapa'  is  the  very  essence 
of  simplicity." 

"And  yet  those  people  constitute  the  most  exclu- 
sive set  in  Washington,"  said  Crane,  angrily,  as  if 
thereby  some  wrong  was  inflicted  on  him. 

"Naturally,"  replied  Thorndyke.  "Don't  you  see 
that  the  first  result  of  their  prosperity  in  their  own 
community  was  to  segregate  them  from  their  less 
fortunate  friends  and  neighbours?  Don't  you  see 
how  inevitably  it  came  about  that  their  children 
were  separated  from  their  neighbours'  children? 
And  in  the  end  they  were  drawn  from  the  Circle- 
vines  and  the  Meekins's  Cross  Roads  by  sheer  neces- 
sity? They  became  fugitives,  as  it  were,  from 
their  own  class,  and  how  natural  it  was  for  them  to 
be  afraid  of  their  own  and  every  other  class  except 
[17] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
the  recognised  few,  and  to  build  up  a  wall  around 
themselves  and  their  children." 

"I  wonder  if  you  would  dare  to  use  that  word 
class  on  the  floor  of  the  House  ?"  asked  Crane. 

"I  would  dare  to  but  I  shouldn't  care  to,"  an- 
swered Thorndyke.  "One  reason  why  I  have  so  lit- 
tle to  say  on  the  floor  of  the  House  is  because  it  in- 
volves many  explanations  to  men  who  know  just  as 
well  what  you  mean  as  you  do,  and  agree  with  you 
thoroughly.  But  there's  Buncombe  County  to  be 
considered." 

"At  all  events,"  said  Crane,  returning  to  himself 
as  a  subject  of  consideration,  "this  social  side  of 
life  appeals  to  me  powerfully — too  powerfully,  I 
am  afraid.  I  feel  an  odd  sort  of  kinship  with  those 
old  ladies  of  seventy  that  I  see  going  the  rounds  in 
Paris  gowns  and  high-heeled  shoes,  with  their  scanty 
white  hair  crimped  and  curled  within  an  inch  of 
their  lives.  It's  serious  business  with  them;  and, 
by  George,  it's  serious  with  me,  too.  Of  course  I 
am  a  blamed  fool  for  acknowledging  so  much." 

"Not  in  the  least.  But  you  must  know  that  it 
can  only  be  a  pastime  with  you.  There  is  Circle- 

ville,  and  Annette,  and  the  babies " 

[18] 


MEN    AND    WOMEN 

Thorndyke  saw  Crane's  face  grow  a  little  pale, 
and  he  fell  silent  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  while 
Thorndyke  was  watching  the  current  of  his 
thought,  as  revealed  by  a  singularly  expressive  and 
untrained  countenance,  Crane  burst  out: 

"The  best  in  the  way  of  women  I've  seen  yet  is 
Constance  Maitland — I  wonder  why  she  never  mar- 
ried. She's  nearer  forty  than  thirty ;  that  she  told 
me  herself." 

It  was  now  Thorndyke's  turn  to  grow  pale. 
Constance  Maitland  was  responsible  to  a  great  de- 
gree for  most  that  had  happened  to  him  for  the  last 
eighteen  years,  and  in  all  that  time  he  had  not  seen 
her  once;  but  the  mere  mention  of  her  name  was 
enough  to  agitate  him ;  and  she  was  in  Washington 
and  he  had  not  known  it 

It  was  a  minute  or  two  before  he  recovered  him- 
self and  began  to  pull  at  the  cigar  in  his  mouth. 
Then  he  saw  by  Crane's  face  that  Constance  Mait- 
land was  something  to  him,  too.  Had  the  poor  devil 
fallen  in  love  with  her  as  he  had  with  Washington 
dinners  ?  Thorndyke  was  disgusted  with  his  friend, 
and  showed  it  by  saying,  coldly : 

"I  knew  Miss  Maitland  well  some  years  ago.  She 
[19] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
is  very  charming.    But,  Crane,  it's  bad  manners  to 
call  ladies  by  their  first  names."     Thorndyke  used 
the  old-fashioned  word  "ladies"  where  the  moderns 
say  "women." 

Crane  coloured  furiously.  He  did  not  mind  in 
the  least  being  coached  in  legislative  affairs,  but  he 
winced  at  being  taught  manners.  However,  he  had 
the  highest  admiration  for  Thorndyke's  manners, 
so  he  replied,  carelessly : 

"I  accept  the  amendment.  As  you  say,  Con — 
Miss  Maitland  is  very  charming,  and  has  been 
charming  men  for  the  past  twenty  years.  Now,  in 
Circleville  she  would  have  been  called  an  old  maid 
ten  years  ago." 

Yes,  of  course,  she  had  always  had  a  train  of  men 
after  her,  and  the  fact  that  she  remained  unmar- 
ried showed  either  that  she  had  no  heart — or — 
sometimes  a  wild  thought  had  crossed  Thorndyke's 
mind — suppose  Constance  Maitland  still  remem- 
bered him?  This  thought,  coming  into  his  head, 
set  his  heart  to  pounding  like  a  steam-engine  while 
Crane  talked  on. 

"That  woman  epitomises  the  charm  of  Wash- 
ington life  to  me.    First,  she  is  unlike  any  woman  I 
[20] 


MEN    AND    WOMEN 

ever  saw  before;  that  is  in  itself  a  charm.  Then, 
she  has  an  environment ;  that,  too,  is  new  to  me.  I 
went  to  see  her  four  times  last  winter."  Then  he 
mentioned  where  she  lived.  "Her  parlour — I  mean 
drawing-room — was  nothing  compared  with  the 
others  I'd  been  in  here,  but  it  was  distinctive.  It 
wasn't  furnished  from  bric-a-brac  shops  and  art- 
sale  catalogues.  All  the  antiques  came  from  her 
own  family — all  the  miniatures  and  portraits  were 
her  own  kinsfolk.  And,  after  having  lived  in  Eu- 
rope for  twenty  years,  as  she  told  me — because  she 
doesn't  mind  mentioning  dates — and  having  seen 
more  of  European  society  than  one  American  wom- 
an in  ten  thousand,  she  loves  and  admires  her  own 
country,  and  came  back  here  to  live  the  first  minute 
she  was  free.  That  struck  me  all  of  a  heap,  be- 
cause, though  you  wouldn't  judge  so  from  my 
Fourth  of  July  speeches  at  Circleville,  I  should 
think  that  Europe  would  be  something  between 
Washington  and  Paradise." 

"You  haven't  been  there  yet,"  was  Thorndyke's 
response  to  this.  And  then  Crane  proceeded  to  tell 
a  story  which  Thorndyke  knew  by  heart. 

"It  seems,   so   I  heard  from  other  people,  she 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
was  brought  up  by  an  old  crank  of  an  aunt, 
who  had  married  a  Baron  Somebody-or-other  in 
Germany.  This  old  feminine  party  tried  to  make 
Constance  marry  some  foreign  guy,  and  when  she 
wouldn't,  the  old  lady,  in  a  rage,  made  a  will,  giv- 
ing all  she  had  to  Constance  on  condition  that  she 
did  not  marry  an  American.  It  was  thought  the 
old  lady  wasn't  exactly  in  earnest,  but  unluckily 
she  died  the  week  after,  and  so  the  will  stands — 
and  that's  why  Con — Miss  Maitland  never  mar- 
ried, I  guess." 

Just  then  a  band  came  blaring  down  the  street, 
followed  by  the  usual  crowd  of  negroes,  dancing, 
shouting,  and  grimacing  along  the  sidewalk,  and 
looking  weird  in  the  high  lights  and  black  shadows 
of  the  night.  Crane,  to  whom  the  negroes  had  never 
ceased  to  be  a  raree  show,  got  up  and  went  to 
the  window,  whistling  the  air  the  band  played; 
meanwhile  Thorndyke  lay  back  in  his  chair  trying 
to  get  used  to  the  knowledge  that  Constance  Mait- 
land had  been  in  Washington  months  and  he  had 
not  known  it.  There  was  a  prologue  to  the  story 
just  told  by  Crane — and  Crane  had  no  suspicion 
of  this  prologue.  A  young  American  of  good  birth 


MEN    AND    WOMEN 

but  slender  fortune — himself,  in  fact — was  the  pri- 
mary cause  of  the  old  Baroness  von  Hesselt's  re- 
markable will.  It  was  he  whom  the  old  lady  held 
responsible  for  Constance  Maitland's  flat  refusal 
to  marry  the  son  of  an  imperial  privy  councillor 
with  seven  points  to  his  coronet.  Oh,  those  days  at 
the  Villa  Flora  on  Lake  Como — those  days  that 
come  only  in  youth,  when  the  whole  world  seems 
young!  When,  from  the  terrace,  Constance  and 
himself  watched  the  sunset  trembling  in  the  blue 
lake  and  making  another  heaven  there !  And  those 
starlit  nights  when  Constance  and  himself  were  in 
a  boat  alone  together,  and  she  sang  to  her  guitar 
for  him,  and  he  repeated  verses  from  Childe  Harold 
to  her !  They  were  both  young  and  singularly  in- 
nocent, and  were  deeply  in  love — of  that  Thorn- 
dyke  could  never  doubt;  and  because  they  were 
young  and  innocent  and  in  love  with  each  other 
the  old  Baroness  thought  them  the  wickedest  and 
most  designing  creatures  on  earth.  She  had  spent 
all  her  life  in  Europe,  had  frankly  married  for  a 
title,  and  wished  Constance  to  do  the  same.  The 
old  Baron,  a  helpless  invalid,  was  not  reckoned 
in  the  equation. 

[23] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
The  Baroness  von  Hesselt  had  acquired  what 
many  Americans  who  live  abroad  acquire — a  spite 
against  her  own  country.  This  was  accentuated 
by  the  fact  that  she  was  a  Southerner  of  the  old 
regime,  who  hated  liberty,  equality,  and  fraternity 
from  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  and  who  instinctively 
realised  her  unfitness  for  America.  She  had  also 
forgotten  a  good  deal  about  it,  and  thought  a  very 
effective  way  to  keep  Constance  from  marrying 
Thorndyke  or  any  other  American  was  to  cut  her  off 
from  a  fortune  in  that  event.  The  will  was  made, 
and  the  old  Baroness  proclaimed  it  loudly  for  a 
week.  At  the  end  of  that  time  the  gentleman  on  the 
pale  horse  unexpectedly  summoned  her.  There  was 
but  one  thing  for  any  man  to  do  in  Geoffrey  Thorn- 
dyke's  circumstances,  and  that  was,  to  go  far  away 
from  Constance  Maitland.  No  definite  words  or 
promises  had  passed  between  them,  but  unless  eyes 
and  tones  of  the  voice,  and  all  sweet,  unutterable 
things  are  liars,  they  were  pledged  to  one  another. 

Thorndyke,  being  in  those  days  a  very  human 

youngster,  hoped  that  Constance  would  send  him 

a  line — a  word — and  doubted  not  for  a  moment 

that  his  love  would  make  up  to  her  for  a  fortune. 

[24] 


MEN    AND    WOMEN 

But  no  line  or  word  ever  came.  As  years  went  on 
Thorndyke  reached  the  sad  knowledge  that  modern 
life  requires  something  more  than  bread  and  cheese 
and  kisses,  and  felt  a  sense  of  relief  that  it  had  not 
been  in  his  power  to  take  Constance  Maitland's  fort- 
une from  her  with  only  love  to  give  in  return.  But 
this  knowledge  did  not  make  him  content.  On  the 
contrary,  year  by  year  had  her  memory  become  more 
poignant  to  him.  It  was  that  which  had  made  him 
throw  himself  with  all  his  being  and  equipment  into 
public  life.  It  was  that  which  made  him  tender 
to  all  innocent,  sweet  women  like  Annette  Crane — 
innocent,  sweet  women  brought  back  to  him  some- 
thing of  his  lost  love.  He  knew  she  had  never  mar- 
ried, but  all  else  concerning  her  was  a  blank  to  him. 
He  was  consumed  with  a  desire  to  ask  Crane  some- 
thing about  her — all  about  her — but  he  had  noted 
instantly  that  in  Crane's  eye  and  voice  was  a  man- 
ner which  revealed  a  dangerous  interest  in  Con- 
stance Maitland;  and  Thorndyke  was  held  back 
and  urged  forward  to  speak  of  her. 

The  band  passed  on,  the  street  once  more  grew 
quiet,  and  Crane  returned  to  his  seat.     Thorndyke 
smoked   savagely   to  keep   from  mentioning  Con- 
[25] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
stance  Maitland's  name.     Crane  did  likewise  with 
the  same  motive,  but  having  less  self-control  than 
Thorndyke  he  could  not  but  hark  back  to  the  tick- 
lish subject. 

"So  you  say  you  knew  Miss  Maitland?" 

"Yes.     A  long  time  ago." 

"She's  very  old-fashioned;  enough  so  to  stay 
out  of  society  when  she  is  wearing  mourning.  She's 
been  in  mourning  for  her  uncle  by  marriage  ever 
since  she's  been  in  Washington — six  months.  The 
exclusives  don't  stay  in  mourning  more  than  six 
months  for  husbands,  wives,  or  children.  Parents 
and  aunts  and  uncles  don't  count." 

"The  exclusives  don't  have  any  aunts  and  un- 
cles," Thorndyke  put  in  shortly.  "They  have 
nieces  and  nephews  who  are  presentable  after  they 
have  been  washed  and  combed — but  they  can't  go 
back  as  far  as  uncles  and  aunts." 

"So  they  can't.  Their  uncles  and  aunts  are  just 
like  my  uncles  and  aunts.  Well,  I  gather  that  the 
old  Baron  for  whom  Miss  Maitland  has  worn 
mourning  wasn't  a  bad  old  party — better,  perhaps, 
than  his  American  wife." 

"He  was,"  said  Thorndyke. 
[26] 


MEN    AND    WOMEN 

Crane  looked  at  him  suspiciously  and  then  kept 
on. 

"Miss  Maitland  is  going  out  this  spring.  She 
says  I'm  quite  right  in  thinking  there  is  a  delight- 
ful society  attainable  here  in  Washington,  but  she's 
so  pleased  to  be  back  in  her  own  country  that  she 
praises  everything  right  and  left.  She  doesn't 
even  mind  the  Dupont  statue,  and  won't  discuss  the 
Pension  building.  To  see  her  flow  of  spirits  you 
would  think  her  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world. 
Yet  she  told  me  once  that  she  wasn't  really  happy." 

"All  women  tell  you  that  before  you  get  through 
with  them,"  growled  Thorndyke. 

"Annette  never  has,"  said  Crane,  rising  and 
throwing  away  his  cigar.  "Some  time,  if  you  wish 
to  call  on  Miss  Maitland,  I'll  take  you  round." 

Thorndyke  restrained  the  temptation  to  brain 
Crane  with  the  carafe  on  the  table  by  him,  partly 
out  of  regard  for  himself,  partly  out  of  regard  to 
Crane,  and  partly  from  the  fact  that  Crane  was  a 
much  bigger  man  than  he  was.  But  his  colleague 
was  evidently  quite  unconscious  of  Thorndyke's 
bloody  inclinations,  and  thought  himself  the  best 
fellow  in  the  world  to  be  willing  to  give  Thorndyke 
[27] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
a  view  into  the  paradise  of  Constance  Maitland's 
company. 

"And  as  for  my  streak  of  luck,  as  you  call  it,  I 
intend  to  devote  all  my  powers  to  my  work,  so  that 
no  matter  what  other  committee  makes  a  fool  of 
itself,  the  Committee  on  Foreign  Affairs  won't — 
at  least  through  its  chairman,"  Crane  continued. 

"It's  easy  enough  to  steer  that  committee  when 
everything  is  peaceful,"  answered  Thorndyke, 
meaning  to  take  the  new  chairman  down  a  peg. 
"And  it's  a  great  deal  easier  when  we  get  into  a  con- 
tinental mess  as  we  are  now.  Wait  until  you  get 
on  the  Ways  and  Means,  or  Committee  on  Elections, 
or  Banking  and  Currency,  if  you  want  to  have  a 
little  Gehenna  of  your  own  on  earth.  Good-night." 

Thorndyke  sat  up  smoking  until  after  two 
o'clock.  His  thoughts  were  not  concerned  with 
Crane's  political  future,  nor  with  his  own  either, 
nor  with  the  continental  mess.  He  was  thinking 
about  that  dead-and-gone  time,  and  how  far  away  it 
was;  the  moderns  did  not  make  love  through  the 
medium  of  sentimental  songs  to  the  guitar  and  to 
stanzas  from  Childe  Harold.  They  preferred 
ragtime  on  the  mandolin  and  the  Rubaiyat  of  Omar 
[28] 


MEN    AND    WOMEN 

Khayyam;  and  they  no  longer  seemed  to  fall  in 
love  in  the  painful  and  whole-souled  manner  which 
had  befallen  him;  and  then  he  wandered  off  into 
thinking  how  a  man's  will  could  go  so  far  and  no 
farther,  and  how  he  should  feel  when  he  saw  Con- 
stance Maitland,  as  he  must  eventually,  and  how 
she  would  look  and  speak.  He  concluded,  before 
he  went  to  bed,  that  he  had  experienced  that  un- 
lucky accident,  the  breaking  of  heart,  which  would 
not  mend,  do  what  he  could ;  for  he  was  one  of  those 
rare  and  unfortunate  men 'who  can  love  but  once. 


[29] 


Chapter  Two 

THE    RISE    OF    A    PREMIER    AND    SOMETHING    ABOUT 
TWO   HEARTS 

On  the  fifteenth  of  April  Congress  met  for  one  of 
the  most  exciting  sessions  in  the  history  of  the  coun- 
try. There  was  excitement  both  for  the  members 
and  for  the  public.  Usually,  when  great  economic 
questions  have  to  be  disposed  of,  which  rack  the  in- 
telligence of  the  strongest  men  in  the  House  and 
Senate,  which  make  and  unmake  Presidents  and 
policies,  at  which  men  work  like  slaves  toiling  at 
the  oar,  by  night  as  well  as  by  day,  and  of  which 
the  harvest  of  death  is  grimly  reckoned  beforehand, 
the  people  go  on  quietly,  reading  with  calm  indif- 
ference the  proceedings  of  Congress  in  the  news- 
papers or  skipping  them  because  of  their  dulness. 
When  questions  affecting  the  honour  and  prestige 
of  the  country  arise,  the  American  people,  justly 
described  as  "strong,  resolute,  and  ofttimes  violent," 
become  deeply  agitated,  are  swayed  all  one  way  by 
[30] 


THE  RISE  OF  A  PREMIER 
the  same  mighty  impulse,  and  force  Congress  to 
act  as  the  people  wish.  The  Congress  at  these  times 
is  calm.  There  is  nothing  to  do  but  comply  with 
the  mandates  of  the  people.  One  party  is  as  will- 
ing to  vote  supplies  as  another.  All  march  togeth- 
er. The  march  would  become  a  wild  storming 
party  but  for  a  few  cool  heads  and  obstructives, 
who  act  as  a  brake,  and  keep  the  pace  down  to  some- 
thing reasonable  and  the  policies  in  the  middle  of 
the  road.  But  the  brake  is  powerless  to  stop  the 
march  onward. 

At  this  session,  though,  there  were  to  be  things 
to  agitate  both  the  people  and  the  Congress.  The 
question  of  peace  or  war  had  to  be  decided ;  and  if 
it  were  peace,  as  the  cooler  heads  foresaw,  it  would 
be  peace  on  such  stupendous  terms  of  power  and 
prestige  to  this  country  that  it  might  be  im- 
possible to  deal  sanely  with  the  great  economic 
problems  which  were  like  the  rumblings  of  an 
earthquake,  and  were  liable  to  produce  vast  con- 
vulsions. For  the  present,  however,  economic  ques- 
tions were  in  the  background,  the  Committee  on 
Foreign  Affairs  was  the  most  prominent  one  in 
the  House. 

[31] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
It  almost  cured  Crane  of  his  infatuation  for 
Washington  society  to  see  how  little  it  was  im- 
pressed by  the  large  events  waiting  to  burst  from 
under  the  great  white  dome  on  the  hill.  Himself, 
in  a  fever  heat  of  suppressed  excitement,  he  felt 
aggrieved  that  dinners  still  went  on  unflaggingly, 
that  the  first  long  season  of  grand  opera  Washing- 
ton had  ever  known  was  about  to  begin,  and  claimed 
much  attention.  None  of  these  smart  people  seemed 
to  care  in  the  least  that  he  was  to  present  the  report 
of  the  Committee  on  Foreign  Affairs  in  an  un- 
precedentedly  short  time — a  report  which  might 
mean  war  or  peace.  He  expressed  his  sense  of  per- 
sonal injury  to  Thorndyke  as  the  two  sat  hard  at 
work  in  their  committee-room  one  night  a  week 
after  the  meeting  of  Congress. 

They  were  quite  alone,  and  it  might  be  said  that 
the  report  was  theirs  alone.  There  were  other 
strong  men  on  the  committee,  but  they  had  got 
used  to  the  autocratic  rule  of  Thorndyke,  and 
rather  liked  it.  He  consulted  them  attentively,  but 
he  was  always  the  man  who  acted.  The  new  chair- 
man recognised  this,  and  being  ambitious  to  rule 
as  Thorndyke  had  ruled,  he  consulted  his  predeces- 
[32] 


THE  RISE  OF  A  PREMIER 
sor  somewhat  ostentatiously — at  which  his  col- 
leagues smiled  and  let  him  alone.  Crane  had  just 
experienced  an  instance  of  Thorndyke's  good  will, 
who  was  in  the  act  of  saving  his  chairman  from 
making  a  ridiculous  blunder  which  would  have  hin- 
dered his  prospects  very  much  as  Oliver  Gold- 
smith's unlucky  red  coat  did  for  him  with  the  Bish- 
op. The  Secretary  of  State,  a  very  long-headed 
person  in  a  small  way,  had  previously  got  the 
length  of  the  Honourable  Julian  Crane's  foot,  as 
the  vulgar  express  it.  He  had  asked  Crane  to  play 
golf  with  him ;  he  had  invited  the  member  from  Cir- 
cleville  to  little  dinners  with  him.  The  Secretary's 
wife  had  requested  Crane  as  a  great  favour  to  assist 
her  widowed  daughter  in  chaperoning  a  party  of 
debutantes  and  college  youths  to  the  theatre,  and 
when  a  scurrilous  journal  had  reflected  grossly 
upon  himself,  a  married  man,  and  the  young  widow, 
Crane  was  in  secret  hugely  flattered.  To  be  linked, 
even  remotely,  in  a  scandal  with  the  daughter  of 
the  Secretary  of  State  was  a  social  rise — although 
he  happened  to  know  that  Cap'n  Josh  Slater,  the 
father  of  the  Secretary  of  State,  had  been  engaged 
in  steam-boating  on  the  Ohio  River  in  the  wild  for- 
[33] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
ties  with  his  own  grandfather,  Cap'n  Ebenezer 
Crane.  The  Secretary's  father  had  made  money, 
and  his  daughters  were  replicas  of  Lady  Clara  Vere 
de  Vere.  Of  his  sons,  one,  the  present  Secretary  of 
State,  had  left  the  banks  of  the  Ohio  never  to  return, 
and  by  a  steady  evolution  had  passed  from  the 
Western  Reserve  College  to  Harvard,  thence  to  Ox- 
ford for  a  post-graduate  course,  to  Berlin  as  at- 
tache to  the  then  Legation,  thence  home  to  exercise 
a  gift  the  politicians  had  found  in  him,  viz.,  the 
power  to  form  a  silk-stocking  contingent  in  the 
party  to  offset  the  silk  stockings  in  the  opposition. 
Being  a  man  of  some  brains  and  much  perseverance, 
he  had  reached  the  most  highly  ornamental  position 
in  the  Government  of  the  United  States — the  Sec- 
retaryship of  State.  He  maintained  it  with  dig- 
nity. He  had,  of  course,  long  since,  abjured  the 
Methodist  faith,  in  which  he  was  reared,  and  was 
as  uncompromising  a  Churchman  as  his  brother,  the 
Episcopal  Bishop — for  such  had  been  the  career  of 
the  steam-boat  captain's  other  son.  Both  had  been 
brought  up  in  an  auriferous  atmosphere  totally 
denied  the  descendants  of  Cap'n  Ebenezer  Crane, 
who  had  lost  his  all  in  the  steam-boat  business,  and 
[34] 


THE    RISE    OF    A    PREMIER 

spent  his  last  years  keeping  the  Circleville  tavern. 
Crane  knew  all  about  this,  one  of  his  grandfather's 
standing  quarrels  with  Fate  being  that  Josh  Slater, 
a  durned  fool,  and  a  rascal  besides,  in  Cap'n  Ebe- 
nezer's  opinion,  had  made  so  much,  where  a  better 
man — that  is,  himself — couldn't  make  a  living. 
But  Crane  knew  better  than  to  refer  to  any  of  these 
matters  before  the  Secretary,  who  was  indeed  only 
dimly  acquainted  with  his  father's  profession.  The 
Secretary,  a  polished,  scholarly  man,  was  a  very 
good  imitation  of  a  statesman.  He  liked  to  be 
called  the  Premier,  prided  himself  on  his  resem- 
blance to  Lord  Salisbury,  and  dressed  the  part  to 
perfection.  During  Thorndyke's  chairmanship  of 
the  Committee  on  Foreign  Affairs,  when  the  pres- 
ent international  complication  had  been  brewing, 
the  Secretary  had  been  a  good  deal  annoyed  by  be- 
ing sent  for  to  the  Capitol  on  what  he  considered 
flimsy  pretexts.  He  determined  when  Crane  suc- 
ceeded Thorndyke  to  make  a  bold  stroke,  and  have 
the  chairman  come  to  him  occasionally,  on  the  sly, 
as  it  were.  To  this  end  he  had  written  Crane  a  little 
note  beginning,  "My  Dear  Crane."  In  it  the  Sec- 
retary spoke  pathetically  of  his  lumbago,  also  of 
[35] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
his  age — sixty-one — and  would  Crane,  on  the  score 
of  old  friendship  and  the  Secretary's  many  infirmi- 
ties, come  to  see  him  at  a  certain  hour  at  the  De- 
partment, and  perhaps  the  necessity  might  be 
avoided  of  the  Secretary  taking  a  trip  in  the 
changeable  weather  to  the  Capitol,  which  otherwise 
would  be  inevitable. 

Crane  showed  this  note  with  ill-concealed  pride, 
and  was  about  to  fall  into  the  Secretary's  little 
trap  through  the  telephone  when  Thorndyke  has- 
tily interposed: 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  he,  grinning,  "you  had 
better  wait  until  the  Secretary's  lumbago  gets  bet- 
ter, rather  than  inaugurate  the  policy  of  running 
up  to  the  State  Department  to  see  him,  when  it  is 
his  business  to  come  here  to  see  you.  The  old  fellow 
tried  that  game  on  me,  but,  in  return,  I  used  to  get 
the  committee  to  invite  him  down  here  about  once  a 
week  to  give  his  views  on  something  or  other  for 
which  we  didn't  give  a  tinker's  damn,  as  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  used  to  say.  But  it  cured  him.  He 
stopped  inviting  me  cordially  and  informally  to 
come  to  the  State  Department  to  see  him." 

Crane's  face  flushed. 

[36] 


THE    RISE    OF    A    PREMIER 

"The  d d  old  sneak!"  he  yelled — and  then 

dashed  off  a  curt  note  to  the  Secretary.  Thorn- 
dyke  promptly  confiscated  this  note,  and  dictated 
another,  which  was,  if  anything,  more  affectionate 
in  tone  than  the  Secretary's.  Crane  would  wish, 
above  all  things,  to  oblige  the  Secretary,  but  was 
himself  under  the  weather,  and  so  forth,  and  so 
forth. 

"But  I  played  golf  with  him  at  seyen  o'clock 
this  morning!"  cried  Crane,  throwing  down  his 
pen. 

"So  much  the  better,"  replied  Thorndyke.  "You 
are  returning  his  own  lie  to  him  with  interest.  Go 
on — 'Possibly  by  to-morrow  you  may  be  well 
enough  to  comply  with  the  wish  of  the  committee, 
and  come  to  the  Capitol.  In  any  event,  before  a 
formal  request  is  made  for  your  attendance,  your 
convenience  will  be  consulted  with  regard  to  the 
hours  and  the  weather.'  And  when  you  get  him  up 
here  put  him  in  the  sweat-box  and  give  him  all 
that's  coming  to  him — that's  the  way  to  get  on  with 
him." 

"I  see,"  said  Crane,  light  breaking  upon  him, 
"and  when  you  had  the  old  fellow  up  here,  and  I 
[37] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

thought  you  were  so  friendly  and  polite  to  him,  you 
were  just  'sweating'  him." 

"That's  what  I  was  doing.  However,  I  reckon 
the  present  Secretary  to  be  the  ideal  man  for  the 
place.  He  is  highly  ornamental,  perfectly  honest, 
and  satisfied  with  the  shadow  of  power.  Occasion- 
ally he  reaches  out  for  something  in  the  way  of  eti- 
quette or  attention,  as  in  the  present  case,  but 
when  he  doesn't  get  it  he  subsides  quietly.  The 
State  Department  has  been  steadily  losing  power 
and  prestige  from  the  foundation  of  the  govern- 
ment until  now,  when  it  is  recognised  as  a  mere 
clerical  bureau  and  a  useful  social  adjunct  to  the 
Administration.  Do  you  think  if  Daniel  Webster 
were  alive  to-day  he  would  take  the  portfolio  of 
State?  He  would  see  the  Administration  at  the 
demnition  bow-wows  first.  Mr.  Blaine  took  it  twice 
under  compulsion,  and  was.  the  most  wretched  and 
restless  man  on  earth  while  he  had  it.  Both  times 
he  was  so  much  too  big  for  the  place  that  he  became 
exceedingly  dangerous,  and  had  to  be  forced  out 
each  time  to  save  the  Administration  from  total 
wreck.  The  lesson  has  not  been  lost  on  succeeding 
Presidents,  and  there  will  be  no  more  Blaines  and 
[38] 


THE  RISE  OF  A  PREMIER 
Websters  in  the  State  Department.  The  trouble 
is,  however,  that  foreign  Chancelleries  persist  in 
taking  the  State  Department  seriously.  They 
can't  take  in  that  you,  as  chairman  of  the  House 
Committee  on  Foreign  Affairs,  are  of  a  good  deal 
more  consequence  at  present  than  the  Secretary  of 
State.  You  can  send  for  him,  but  he  can't  send  for 
you.  You  can  call  for  information  from  him  and 
practically  force  him  to  give  it  to  you,  but  he  can't 
make  you  tell  the  day  of  the  week  unless  you  want 
to." 

Crane,  who  had  signed  and  sealed  his  note  while 
Thorndyke  was  speaking,  glowed  with  pleasure  at 
the  last  words.  But  he  returned  to  his  grievance 
about  none  of  the  smart  set  taking  any  particular 
interest  in  what  was  going  to  happen  on  the  mor- 
row. 

"The  diplomatic  people  are  taking  the  deepest 
interest  in  it,"  replied  Thorndyke,  grimly,  "and 
when  this  report  is  read  to-morrow  they  will  be  up 
against  a  fierce  proposition."  Thorndyke  was  not 
above  using  slang  when  in  the  company  of  men 
alone. 

They  fell  to  work  again  at  some  last  details,  and 
[39] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

it  was  not  far  from  midnight  when  they  left  the 
great  white  building  on  the  hill.  In  spite  of  the  en- 
grossing matters  which  had  employed  them,  both 
men  had  been  haunted  by  the  recollection  of  their 
conversation  the  night  before,  about  Constance 
Maitland — but  neither  had  spoken  her  name. 
Thorndyke  said,  as  they  came  out  on  the  deserted 
moonlit  plaza : 

"It's  a  pity  Mrs.  Crane  can't  be  here  to  listen  to 
you  speak  to-morrow." 

"Yes,"  replied  Crane,  promptly.  "But  I  have 
written  her  about  it,  and  I  shall  send  her  a  despatch 
as  soon  as  I  get  through  to-morrow.  By  the  way, 
I  sent  Miss  Maitland  a  ticket  to  the  reserved  gal- 
lery. I  shall  probably  see  her  at  the  French  Em- 
bassy, where  I  am  going  to  take  a  look  at  the  ball." 

It  was  Crane's  first  invitation  to  the  French  Em- 
bassy, and  he  was  slightly  elated  at  it,  and  being 
unable  to  conceal  anything,  Thorndyke  saw  his  ela- 
tion. His  only  reply  to  Crane's  important  commu- 
nication was,  "Good-night — here's  my  car."  And 
he  jumped  aboard  the  trailer  just  passing. 

When  he  reached  his  own  door  he  turned  away 
from  it.  The  night  was  growing  more  enchanting- 
[40] 


THE  RISE  OF  A  PREMIER 
ly  lovely  every  hour.  A  great  white  April  moon 
was  riding  high  in  the  heavens,  and  the  soft  fresh- 
ness of  the  spring  night  was  in  the  air.  Thorndyke 
made  the  beauty  of  the  night  an  excuse  to  himself 
for  remaining  out  of  doors.  In  truth,  he  had  felt 
a  yearning,  ever  since  Crane  had  first  told  him  that 
Constance  Maitland  was  in  Washington,  to  see  her 
habitation — it  was  next  to  seeing  her.  He  strug- 
gled against  it  for  an  hour  or  two,  walking  away 
from  the  street  wherein  she  dwelt.  He  soon  found 
himself  in  the  poorer  part  of  Washington,  a  long 
way  from  the  gay  quarters ;  a  part  of  narrow  brick 
or  frame  houses,  cheap  churches,  and  many  small 
shops.  He  was  reminded  of  that  saying,  as  old  as 
Plato,  who  did  not  himself  say  it  first :  "In  all  cities 
there  are  two  cities — the  city  of  the  poor  and  the 
city  of  the  rich."  The  city  of  the  poor  in  Wash- 
ington, however,  is  the  least  disheartening  of  its 
sort  in  the  world — for  even  the  poorest  house  has 
air  and  space  and  sunlight  about  it  and  green  trees 
to  shelter  it. 

After    having    wandered    about    until    he    felt 
certain    the    West    End    was    asleep,    Thorndyke 
yielded  to  the  overmastering  impulse  and  set  out 
[41] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
for  his  goal  at  the  other  end  of  the  town.  He  soon 
entered  Massachusetts  Avenue — that  long  and 
beautiful  avenue,  shaded  with  double  rows  of  lin- 
dens, their  pale  green  buds  breaking  out  into  their 
first  delicate  leaf,  the  vista  broken  by  open  spaces 
with  statues,  and  closing  with  the  rich  foliage  of 
Dupont  Circle.  All  was  quiet,  silent,  and  more  and 
more  brightly  moonlit.  No  glaring  gas  lamps 
marred  the  light  or  darkness  of  the  perfect  night — 
for  in  Washington  when  the  moon  shines  the  gas 
lamps  don't  shine. 

Thorndyke's  soul,  dragging  his  unwilling  feet, 
brought  him  to  one  of  the  pretty  side  streets  open- 
ing upon  the  splendid  avenue.  It  was  here  that 
Constance  Maitland's  house  was. 

Thorndyke  believed — such  is  the  folly  of  love — 
he  would  have  known  the  house  even  if  Crane  had 
not  mentioned  the  number.  But  the  number  was 
conclusive.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  house,  broad 
and  low  for  a  city  house.  It  had  been  the  advance 
guard  of  fashion.  There  was  a  little  strip  of  gar- 
den and  shrubbery  at  the  side,  where  clipped  cedars 
were  formally  set,  and  three  great  lilac-bushes  were 
hastening  into  a  bloom  of  purple  splendour.  The 
[42] 


THE  RISE  OF  A  PREMIER 
scent  of  the  lilacs  brought  back  the  terrace  on  Lake 
Como,  where  lilacs  also  grew,  and  where  he  and 
Constance  had  spent  those  glowing  and  unforgot- 
ten  hours — and  by  moonlight  they  had  often  sung 
together  the  old  duet  from  Don  Pasquale,  "Oh, 
April  Night!"  Thorndyke,  entranced  and  lost  in 
visions,  began  to  hum  the  old,  old  air.  What 
strange  power  of  restoring  the  past  have  old  songs 
and  the  perfume  of  flowers  long  remembered! 
Thorndyke  felt  as  in  a  dream ;  all  the  intervening 
years  melted  away;  it  was  once  more  Como,  with 
its  moonlight,  its  flower-scents,  its  songs,  its  loves — 
and  then  he  looked  up  and  saw  Constance  Maitland 
standing  before  him. 

She  had  just  returned  from  the  ball — the  car- 
riage from  which  she  had  alighted  was  rolling  off. 
As  she  met  Thorndyke  face  to  face  on  the  sidewalk 
she  started  slightly,  and  her  long  white  mantle 
slipped  from  her  delicate  bare  shoulders  to  the 
ground.  Her  eyes  met  Thorndyke's — everything 
was  in  that  gaze  except  surprise.  When  two  per- 
sons think  of  each  other  daily  for  many  years,  the 
strangeness  is  not  in  their  meeting  but  in  their  sep- 
aration. They  had  seen  each  other  last  on  a  moon- 
[43] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
lit  night,  and  the  sweet  scent  of  lilacs  was  in  the  air 
— and  now,  after  eighteen  years,  it  was  so  alike ! 

The  moonlight  was  merciful  to  them  both. 
Neither  saw  all  of  Time's  earmarks — Thorndyke 
saw  none  at  all  in  Constance.  Her  girlish  figure 
was  quite  unchanged.  Her  pale  yellow  ball-gown, 
the  pearls  around  her  throat,  were  youthfulness  it- 
self. She  had  never  been  remarkable  for  beauty, 
but  her  face  showed  no  lines,  her  silky  black  hair, 
simply  arranged,  revealed  none  of  the  silver  strands 
that  were  visible  by  daylight.  Thorndyke  received 
a  distinct  shock  at  her  youthfulness.  It  was  his  lost 
Constance  of  the  Villa  Flora. 

She  held  her  hand  out  to  him  without  a  word, 
and  he  clasped  it.  In  that  clasp  Constance  realised 
that  she  had  all  and  more  of  her  old  power  over 
him.  Thorndyke  could  not  have  said  a  word  at 
first  to  save  his  life,  but  Constance,  with  equal  feel- 
ing, had  a  woman's  glibness,  and  could  have 
plunged  into  commonplaces  on  the  spot.  But  she 
refrained,  knowing  that  her  silence  was  eloquent. 
She  withdrew  her  hand  lingeringly.  Then  Thorn- 
dyke  saw  the  white  cloak  lying  on  the  ground.  He 
picked  it  up  and  held  it  wide  for  Constance,  and 
[44] 


THE    RISE    OF    A    PREMIER 

when  he  enfolded  her  in  the  cloak  she  was  enfolded 
for  one  thrilling,  perilous  instant  in  his  arms.  An- 
other moment  and  she  would  be  at  his  mercy.  Con- 
stance, knowing  this,  and  suddenly  remembering  the 
maid  waiting  for  her,  and  possibly  belated  neigh- 
bours looking  out  of  their  windows,  withdrew  a  lit- 
tle. This  restored  Thorndyke's  vagrant  senses,  and 
after  a  moment  or  two  he  said : 

"It  does  not  seem — now — so  long  since  we 
parted." 

"It  is  very  long;  it  is  nearly  eighteen  years," 
Constance  replied.  Her  .voice  was  the  sweet  voice 
of  the  far  South,  for  her  young  eyes  had  first 
opened  upon  the  blue  waters  of  another  lake  than 
Como — Lake  Pontchartrain.  In  her  speech  there 
were  continual  traces  of  her  Louisiana  birth — 
Thorndyke  had  ever  thought  her  voice  and  her  lit- 
tle mannerisms  of  language  among  her  greatest 
charms — and  he  was  confirmed  in  his  belief  at  the 
first  word  she  uttered.  He  said  to  her : 

"I  did  not  know  until  yesterday  that  you  were  in 
Washington." 

"I  did  not  like  to  send  you  a  card,"  Constance 
replied. 

[45] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

"You  might  have  done  so  much." 

"I  do  not  know  which  of  us  is  in  the  wrong,"  she 
said — said  it  so  deliberately  that  it  might  convey 
a  thousand  meanings.  "But  if  you  are  waiting  for 
me  to  ask  you — come.  Of  course,  I  cannot  ask  you 
in  now;  if  we  were  as  young  as  we  once  were,  it 
would  be  quite  dreadful  for  us  to  be  standing  and 
talking  as  we  are — but  both  being  old  enough  to 
take  care  of  ourselves,  we  have  our  liberty." 

Love  and  hate  are  closely  allied,  and  often  rea- 
son alike  from  the  same  premises.  As  Thorndyke 
realised  more  and  more  that  Constance  Maitland 
still  had  power  to  disturb  him  powerfully  he  resent- 
ed her  ease  and  tranquillity — and  aware  of  the 
lines  in  his  face,  conscious  that  he  was  growing  bald, 
he  felt  injured  at  her  continuing  youth.  Evi- 
dently, the  recollections  which  had  made  him  for- 
swear love,  forego  wealth,  and  had  turned  him  into 
a  Congressional  drudge,  had  left  no  mark  on  her. 
He  took,  at  once,  her  hint  to  leave  her,  and  said 
stiffly : 

"If  you  will  give  me  your  key " 

Constance  handed  it  to  him ;  he  went  up  the  steps 
and  opened  the  door.  The  gaslight  fell  full  upon 
[46] 


THE    RISE    OF    A    PREMIER 
her,  and  it  was  as  if  with  every  glance  they  became 
more  infatuated  with  each  other  and  found  it  hard- 
er to  part. 

"To-morrow,"  said  Thorndyke. 

"Yes;  to-morrow,"  Constance  echoed,  dreamily. 

Thorndyke  banged  the  door  to  and  literally  ran 
down  the  street. 

When  he  came  to  himself,  as  it  were,  he  was  in 
his  own  room,  smoking.  He  kept  on  saying  to  him- 
self, "To-morrow — to-morrow,"  and  then  called 
himself  a  fool — a  purely  academic  proceeding,  how- 
ever, which  never  really  influences  any  issue  between 
a  man  and  his  will.  When  at  last  he  went  to  bed  the 
sky  was  opalescent  with  the  coming  dawn. 


[47] 


Chapter  Three 

DOWN    AMONG    THE    CAPTAINS    AND    THE    SHOUTING 

After  four  hours  of  sleep  Thorndjke  waked  with 
the  uncomfortable  feeling  which  waits  on  excess  in 
everything,  especially  excess  in  the  emotions  after 
one  is  forty  years  of  age.  The  tumults  of  youth 
are  killing  after  forty. 

He  got  through  with  his  breakfast  and  his  mail 
under  the  disadvantages  of  seeing  visions  of  Con- 
stance Maitland  floating  all  about  him — visions  of 
Constance  offering  to  give  up  her  fortune  and  live 
with  him  on  what  he  could  save  of  his  Congressional 
salary  after  supplying  the  wants  of  his  crippled  sis- 
ter, Elizabeth.  And  in  case  he  should  lose  the 
nomination  at  the  hands  of  his  boss,  as  he  had  once 
done,  there  would  be  nothing  at  all  for  Constance 
or  Elizabeth,  either,  nor  for  himself  that  he  could 
then  foresee.  What  a  strange  infatuation  was  Con- 
gressional life !  It  was  almost  as  strange  as  the  in- 
fatuation for  a  woman  forever  barred  from  him — 
[48] 


DOWN    AMONG    THE    CAPTAINS 
and  by  the  worst  luck  in  the  world,  he,  Geoffrey 
Thorndyke,  was  the  victim  of  both! 

These  unpleasant  thoughts  walked  every  step  of 
the  way  with  him  to  the  Capitol  on  that  bright 
April  morning.  When  he  reached  the  great  white 
building,  sitting  majestically  on  the  hill,  he  was  one 
of  a  vast  multitude  of  people  surging  toward  the 
south  wing.  It  still  lacked  half  an  hour  of  twelve, 
and  the  flag  was  not  yet  hoisted.  Crowds  were  dis- 
embarking from  the  street-cars,  the  plaza  was  black 
with  carriages,  and  over  all  was  that  tension  of  feel- 
ing which  communicates  itself  to  thousands  and  tens 
of  thousands  of  persons  at  once.  Something  was 
about  to  happen  that  day  in  the  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives. As  Crane  said,  the  smart  set  cared  noth- 
ing for  it,  but  their  majesties,  the  people,  were 
deeply  interested  in  it,  and  had  every  reason  to  be, 
and  assembled  in  great  crowds  to  see  the  first  act. 
Thorndyke  made  his  way  to  his  committee-room. 
No  one  was  there  except  Crane.  The  gentleman 
from  Circleville  was  dressed  for  his  first  appearance 
as  a  star.  Thorndyke,  being  in  rather  a  savage  hu- 
mour, thought  he  had  never  seen  Crane  so  over- 
dressed, so  full  of  elation  and  vain  simplicity,  and, 
[49] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
in  short,  so  nearly  a  fool.    In  this  he  did  Crane  great 
injustice,  for  Crane  never  was,  at  any  time,  in  the 
category  of  fools,   although  he  often  did  foolish 
things. 

He  spoke  to  Thorn  dyke  affably,  although  with  a 
slight  air  of  superiority,  holding  in  his  hand  the 
report  of  which  Thorndyke  had  supplied  the  most 
effective  part — the  close  reasoning,  the  conclusive 
logic,  the  historical  precedents,  and  the  invincible 
moderation.  Thorndyke  might  indeed  have  said  of 
that  report,  as  Caesar  said  of  the  Gallic  wars,  "All 
of  this  I  saw — most  of  this  I  was."  And  in  the  de- 
bate that  would  follow,  Thorndyke  would  be  obliged 
to  take  care  of  Crane — for  Crane,  although  a  pow- 
erful and  attractive  speaker,  was  easily  disconcert- 
ed when  on  his  feet,  and  had  a  tendency  to  panic 
under  the  enfilading  fire  of  debate.  Thorndyke  was 
not  an  orator  in  the  popular  sense,  but  when  it  came 
to  having  all  his  wits  about  him,  to  defending  his 
position,  to  bold  incursions  into  the  enemy's  terri- 
tory, he  was  not  surpassed  by  any  man  in  the  House. 
As  his  colleagues  said  of  him,  he  always  went  docu- 
mented, and  carried  concealed  parliamentary  weap- 
ons about  his  person. 

[50] 


DOWN  AMONG  THE  CAPTAINS 
By  way  of  revenge,  Thorndyke  began  to  chaff 
his  colleague  on  the  subject  of  his  dress.  Crane's 
shirt-bosom  snapped  like  giant  crackers,  his  cuffs 
rattled,  his  collar  creaked.  He  was  conscious  of 
this,  and  glowered  darkly  at  Thorndyke's  jokes. 
Thorndyke's  clothes,  in  contradistinction  to 
Crane's,  were  the  clothes  of  a  clothes-wearing  man. 
They  were  neither  old  nor  new,  neither  out  of  the 
fashion  nor  conspicuously  in  the  fashion — they 
were,  in  short,  the  clothes  of  a  man  whose  father 
before  him  had  worn  clothes. 

Both  men  were  in  their  seats,  which  were  near  to- 
gether, when  the  Speaker's  gavel  fell.  The  gal- 
leries were  packed,  the  corridors  jammed.  In  the 
diplomatic  gallery  every  seat  was  occupied.  The 
bright  costumes  of  the  Orientals  and  the  flower- 
decked  spring  hats  of  the  ladies  made  it  gay.  The 
gallery  reserved  for  the  President's  family  and  the 
Cabinet  families  was  also  full.  So  great  was  the 
pressure  that  the  motion  was  at  once  made  to  admit 
ladies  to  the  floor  of  the  House.  They  came  flutter- 
ing in  like  a  flock  of  pigeons,  and  soon  filled  all  the 
space  back  of  the  desks.  They  were  not,  in  gen- 
eral, of  the  smart  set,  who,  as  Crane  complained, 
[51] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
were  like  Gallic,  and  cared  for  none  of  these  things 
— but  were  chiefly  of  official  families. 

As  soon  as  the  prayer  and  some  routine  business 
was  over,  the  report  of  the  Committee  on  For- 
eign Affairs  was  called  for.  The  calling  of  the  roll 
had  been  waived — it  was  easy  enough  to  see  that 
every  member  was  present  who  could  get  there,  as 
well  as  many  Senators.  When  the  report  was  hand- 
ed to  the  reading-clerk  there  was  a  deep  pause. 
Thorndyke  looked  at  Crane.  He  was  very  pale,  but 
the  veins  in  his  neck  were  pulsating  strongly.  He 
glanced  up  at  the  reserved  gallery  at  the  side,  and 
his  face  flushed  deeply.  Thorndyke  followed  his 
eye.  It  fell  upon  Constance  Maitland  sitting  in  the 
front  row.  She  was  dressed  in  a  rich  black  toilette 
which  contrasted  strongly  with  the  brilliant  colours 
around  her.  A  delicate  black  tulle  hat  sat  upon  her 
graceful  head,  and  she  fanned  herself  slowly  with  a 
large  black  fan. 

Her  distinction  of  appearance  was  extreme,  and 
she  showed  her  perfect  knowledge  of  it  by  the  sim- 
ple but  effective  trick  of  wearing  black  when  there 
was  a  riot  of  colour  around  her.  By  means  of  a 
good  figure  and  perfect  dressing  this  seduced  the 
[52] 


DOWN    AMONG    THE    CAPTAINS 
world  into  thinking  her  far  handsomer  than  she 
really  was.     Thorndyke  recognised  that  when  he 
saw  how  much  more  attention  she  attracted  than 
much  younger  and  more  beautiful  women. 

But  then  the  silence  was  broken  by  the  great, 
bell-like  voice  of  the  reading-clerk  reading  the  re- 
port. As  the  clerk  proceeded,  Thorndyke  perceived 
that  the  tone  and  manner  of  the  report  were  making 
a  strong  impression.  The  matter  of  it  could  not  be 
wholly  digested,  but  the  manner  of  presentation 
commanded  attention.  Nearly  every  one  of  the 
three  hundred  and  fifty  members  present  saw 
Thorndyke's  fine  Italian  hand  in  the  business — but 
the  crowd  gazed  in  admiration  at  the  tall  and  hand- 
some member  from  Circleville,  who  was  reaping  the 
glory  of  the  present  occasion.  The  reading  over, 
Crane  arose,  with  a  few  notes  in  his  hand,  prepared 
to  defend  the  report.  He  was  a  born  speaker,  and 
as  soon  as  he  began  to  talk  he  forgot  his  clothes  and 
also  made  his  audience  forget  them,  too.  Thorn- 
dyke  listened  with  enforced  admiration.  Crane 
spoke  lucidly,  strongly,  yet  temperately — Thorn- 
dyke  had  taught  him  the  enormous  power  of  mod- 
eration. Thorndyke,  quite  unobserved,  watched 
[53] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
the  faces  of  the  European  diplomats  in  the  diplo- 
matic gallery,  who  were  listening  intently.  One 
man,  whom  Thorndyke  reckoned  the  ablest  diplomat 
among  those  representing  Western  Europe,  stealth- 
ily took  out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  his  fore- 
head. An  Ambassadress  dropped  her  card-case  at 
his  feet  and  he  did  not  see  it.  Another,  a  round, 
red-faced,  sensible,  guileless  man,  looked  about  him 
with  a  frankly  puzzled  air,  which  said  as  plainly  as 
words,  "God  bless  my  soul — what  are  we  to  do  about 
this?"  The  younger  men  unconsciously  assumed 
expressions  of  contempt,  indifference,  and  displeas- 
ure. They  had  every  reason  to  be  displeased  at  the 
turn  international  affairs  were  taking — and  there 
was  no  alternative  but  war. 

Thorndyke,  being  experienced  in  legislation, 
could  very  readily  estimate  the  effect  on  his  col- 
leagues of  what  Crane  was  saying.  It  was  tremen- 
dous. The  vast  hall  was  stilled,  and  the  stillness 
grew  intense.  By  some  communicable  psychic  force 
all  knew  that  here  was  a  great  issue  met  and  dis- 
posed of  for  a  hundred  years  to  come.  To  the 
Americans  present  it  was  a  source  of  pride  and  of 
relief.  The  mellow,  unchanging  sunlight  that 
[54] 


DOWN  AMONG  THE  CAPTAINS 
glowed  softly  through  the  iridescent  glass  roof  of 
the  hall  fell  upon  their  faces,  serious  indeed,  but 
steady  and  cheerful.  The  Congress  was  back  of 
that  report,  and  the  people  were  behind  the  Con- 
gress. There  was  no  hysteria  among  the  Congress 
or  the  people,  but  a  fixed  and  resolute  determina- 
tion which  was,  in  effect,  the  registering  of  a  decree 
of  fate. 

Crane  spoke  for  half  an  hour,  his  rich,  full  voice 
growing  richer  and  fuller,  without  becoming  loud- 
er, as  he  proceeded.  At  the  very  end  he  had  allowed 
himself  a  little  leeway,  rightly  judging  that  by  that 
time  the  audience  would  be  wrought  up  to  the  pitch 
which  would  permit  what  is  called  eloquence.  When 
the  last  sentences,  ringing  with  terse  Americanism, 
rolled  out,  the  effect  was  magical.  A  great  storm  of 
feeling  had  been  evoked  and  had  responded.  The 
applause  was  long  and  loud  and  deep  and  steady, 
like  the  breaking  of  ocean  waves  upon  granite 
rocks.  Crane's  words  had  pierced  the  heart  of 
every  American  present,  and  a  common  impulse 
brought  all  of  them  to  their  feet.  Even  the  Speak- 
er, not  knowing  what  he  was  doing,  rose  from  his 
chair,  then  sat  down  again  shamefacedly.  None  es- 
[55] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
caped  the  tumult  outwardly  except  the  European 
occupants  of  the  diplomatic  gallery.  They  were 
ostentatiously  cool,  and  talked  and  laughed  during 
the  tempest  of  applause,  while  secretly  they  were 
more  agitated  than  any  of  the  cheering  multitude. 
They  had  heard  that  which  meant  surrender  to  each 
and  all  of  them. 

The  Speaker's  gavel  descended  presently,  and 
quiet  was  partially  restored.  Crane  was  surrounded 
by  members  of  both  parties  congratulating  him, 
and  he  received  their  praise  with  a  modesty  more 
sincere  than  was  generally  believed.  But  to  him 
had  it  been  brought  home  that  the  crisis  was  bigger 
than  the  man,  and  the  people  were  bigger  than  the 
crisis.  Thorndyke,  sitting  near  him,  had  shared  in 
the  tempest  of  feeling,  but  a  sickening  disappoint- 
ment possessed  him  when  he  saw  Crane's  personal 
triumph.  In  all  of  Thorndyke's  years  of  labour 
Fate  had  never  given  him  any  such  a  chance  as 
this.  But  it  was  his  years  of  labour  which  made 
Crane's  success  possible.  He  could  imagine  the  tur- 
gid, strained  spread-eagleism,  the  powerful  but  ill- 
reasoned  speech,  which  Crane,  but  for  him,  would 
have  made.  His  eyes,  in  his  cold  fit  of  chagrin, 
[56] 


DOWN  AMONG  THE  CAPTAINS 
wandered  toward  the  place  where  Constance  Mait- 
land  sat.  A  slender  black  figure,  gracefully  hold- 
ing up  the  train  of  the  black  gown,  was  just  disap- 
pearing through  the  door.  Thorndyke's  impulse 
to  follow  Constance  was  accentuated  by  a  strong 
desire,  if  there  should  be  any  debate,  to  leave 
Crane  to  his  fate,  but  he  soon  found  out  that 
the  whole  matter  would  go  over  until  the  next  day, 
and  by  that  time  his  better  self  would  assert  itself, 
and  he  would  do  his  part — not  for  Crane's  sake,  but 
for  the  sake  of  that  overmastering  sense  of  public 
duty  which  he  cherished  religiously  and  never  al- 
luded to.  So,  finding  himself  free  and  superfluous, 
he  left  the  chamber,  partly  to  avoid  the  sight  of 
Crane's  triumph  and  partly  drawn  by  Constance 
Maitland.  Before  leaving,  however,  he  went  up  like 
a  gentleman  and  congratulated  Crane,  who,  moved 
by  an  honest  and  generous  impulse,  expressed  the 
utmost  gratitude  to  him. 

Out  in  the  spring  sunshine  that  flooded  the  plaza 
and  the  parklike  gardens  and  blazed  upon  the  gold- 
en dome  of  the  fair  white  National  Library,  visi- 
ble beyond  the  fringe  of  great  green  trees,  Thorn- 
dyke  looked  about  him  for  Constance  Maitland. 
[57] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
She  was  just  stepping  into  a  smart  little  brougham 
with  a  good-looking  pair  of  brown  cobs,  and  drove 
away  toward  the  quiet,  shady,  beautiful  but  un- 
fashionable part  of  the  town  on  the  east. 

The  carriage  went  slowly,  and  Thorndyke,  pur- 
suing it,  saw  it  stop  a  few  blocks  from  the  Capitol, 
by  one  of  those  parks  large  enough  for  one  to  wan- 
der in  and  feel  alone  as  if  in  the  woods.  Constance 
descended  from  the  carriage  holding  her  skirts 
daintily,  and  walked  into  the  park.  Thorndyke 
boldly  followed  her — she  had  said  to-morrow — and 
this  was  to-morrow. 

He  came  upon  her  in  a  few  minutes  in  a  little 
open  space,  shut  in,  except  for  the  pathway,  by 
shrubbery  on  every  side.  The  grass  was  full  of 
daisies  which  had  just  put  on  their  little  white  shirts 
and  yellow  caps,  and  a  pair  of  robins  hopped  about 
with  as  much  gayety  and  freedom  as  if  they  were 
country  robins  instead  of  town  robins. 

Constance  was  sitting  on  a  rusty  iron  bench,  a 
little  in  the  shade.  She  had  taken  off  her  gloves, 
and  her  hands,  small  and  innocent  of  rings,  lay  in 
her  lap.  She  seemed  to  be  day-dreaming,  as  if  she 
were  eighteen  instead  of  thirty-eight  years  of  age. 
[58] 


DOWN  AMONG  THE  CAPTAINS 
Thorndyke  was  pleased  to  see  that  by  the  search- 
ing light  of  day  she  did  not  look  nearly  so  young 
as  in  the  mysterious  night.  But  she  was  not  the 
less  charming  on  that  account — she  had  simply 
reached  the  fulness  of  her  development  in  mind,  in 
feeling,  and  even  in  beauty,  such  as  hers  was. 

As  Thorndyke  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  to  her 
he  received  a  distinct  invitation,  by  means  of  her 
eyes  and  smile,  to  remain,  so  he  seated  himself  on  the 
bench  by  her  side.  She  began  the  conversation  by 
saying : 

"I  have  just  come  from  the  House.  It  was  very 
exciting.  I  do  not  see  how  any  one  can  call  life  in 
America  dull.  It  is  Europe  which  is  dull — it  is 
stagnation  compared  with  this,  our  country." 

Thorndyke  again  noted,  with  delight,  in  her 
speech  that  slight  trace  of  her  Creole  blood  which 
years  had  not  changed.  She  said  "do  not"  and  "can 
not"  in  place  of  "don't"  and  "can't;"  she  took  ex- 
traordinary pains  to  pronounce  the  th,  and  had  a 
way  of  accenting  last  syllables  in  a  manner  not  rec- 
ommended by  the  dictionaries.  The  result  was  piq- 
uant and  charming.  Constance  herself  was  quite 
unconscious  of  it,  and  Thorndyke  remembered  that 
[59] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
in  the  old  days  he  could  bring  her  to  pique  and  pouts 
at  any  time  by  asking  her  to  pronounce  certain 
words  and  phrases  which  were  a  perpetual  stum- 
bling-block to  her.  He  did  not  venture  now  to 
laugh  at  her  about  this  pretty  idiosyncrasy,  but 
gravely  took  up  the  thread  of  conversation  where 
she  dropped  it. 

"What  did  you  think  of  Crane's  speech?" 
"It  was  quite  extraordinary.    But  it  was  not  like 
him.     It  seemed  to  me  as  if  he  were  making  some- 
body else's  speech.    Was  it  yours  ?" 

If  Constance  had  searched  the  realms  of  thought 
to  find  out  the  words  that  would  most  soothe  and 
satisfy  Thorndyke  at  that  moment  she  could  not 
have  found  any  better  than  those  she  uttered. 
Smarting  under  the  sense  of  having  sown  for  an- 
other to  reap,  Thorndyke  needed  consolation.  He 
had  the  defects  of  his  qualities,  and  along  with  his 
passionate  devotion  to  parliamentary  life  was  the 
natural  desire  for  popular  applause.  But  he  had 
never  had  it.  He  fondly  believed  that  had  this  su- 
perb opportunity  been  awarded  him  he  should  have 
proved  equal  to  it.  Had  it  but  occurred  two  months 
earlier !  He  and  not  Crane  would  have  been  envel- 
[60] 


DOWN  AMONG  THE  CAPTAINS 
oped  in  trailing  clouds  of  glory.  But  Constance — 
Constance,  with  her  woman's  wit,  had  seen  that 
some  one  else  besides  Crane  deserved  the  credit  for 
that  effort.  He  made  no  reply  to  her  questions  be- 
yond a  slight  smile,  but  he  let  it  be  seen  that  she 
had  hit  the  bull's  eye. 

"Mr.  Crane  tells  me  he  knows  you,"  he  said, 
presently. 

"Yes,"  answered  Constance.  "He  has  been  a  few 
times  to  see  me.  Last  night  I  met  him  at  the  ball  at 
the  French  Embassy.  I  danced  with  him." 

"He  owned  up  to  me  some  time  ago  that  he 
was  taking  dancing-lessons — at  forty-two,  with  a 
wife  and  children  in  Circleville.  I  fancy  his  per- 
formance answers  the  description  that  Herodotus 
gives  of  the  dancing  of  Hippocleides — it  is  divert- 
ing to  himself,  but  disgusting  to  others." 

"On  the  contrary,  he  dances  very  well — when  he 
is  not  trying  to  do  his  best.  Perhaps  you  are  sur- 
prised that  I  should  still  care  to  dance — but  remem- 
ber, pray,  my  mother  was  Creole  French." 

And  to  this   Thorndyke  made  a  speech  which 
brought    the    blood    into    Constance    Maitland's 
cheeks,  knocking  ten  years  off  her  age  at  once. 
[61] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

"I  remember  everything,"  he  said. 

After  a  moment's  pause  Constance,  still  with  a 
heightened  colour,  continued : 

"I  have  seen  Mr.  Crane  several  times  this  winter 
— not  only  in  my  own  house,  but  in  others.  When- 
ever I  am  with  him  I  am  consumed  with  pity  for 
him." 

"He  does  not  need  your  pity  now,"  said  Thorn- 
dyke,  grimly.  "It  is  more  needed  by  his  senior 
Senator,  who  is  the  fly-wheel  of  the  political  ma- 
chine in  his  State.  The  old  gentleman,  I  know,  is 
at  this  minute  walking  the  floor  in  his  committee- 
room  and  gnashing  his  teeth  over  Crane's  success. 
The  senior  Senator  took  Crane  up,  send  him  to 
Congress,  and  thought  he  had  secured  a  really  effi- 
cient understrapper.  I  don't  think  Crane  will  fill 
that  place  after  to-day's  triumph,  and  the  senior 
Senator  knows  it,  and  has  got  to  discover  means,  if 
possible,  to  garrote  Crane  politically  before  the  next 
Congressional  campaign." 

"I  see,"  replied  Constance,  who  was  only  interest- 
ed in  the  subject  because  she  saw  Thorndyke  was. 
"Mr.  Crane,  by  virtue  of  making  your  speech,  has 
got  beyond  the  control  of  his  master.  By  the  way 
[62] 


DOWN    AMONG    THE    CAPTAINS 
— I  am  so  ignorant  of  Congressional  matters — how 
can  I  get  the  Congressional  Record  sent  me  every 
day?" 

"You  have  already  got  it — by  mentioning  to  me 
that  you  wished  it.  It  is  one  of  my  few  privileges. 
I  am  glad  to  do  at  least  that  much  for  you." 

Thorndyke  heard  himself  saying  these  things 
without  his  own  volition  in  the  least.  If  Constance 
Maitland  were  willing  at  this  moment  to  give  up  a 
fortune  for  poverty  with  him,  would  he  accept  the 
sacrifice?  Never.  How  could  a  woman  of  her  ma- 
ture age,  nurtured  in  luxury,  descend  to  poverty — 
for  poverty  is  the  lot  of  every  member  of  Congress 
who  wishes  to  live  in  something  more  than  mere  de- 
cency on  his  salary.  And  yet  Thorndyke,  at  every 
opportunity,  had  assured  Constance  Maitland  of 
his  un  forgetting,  of  his  tender,  recollections — in 
short,  of  his  love.  Nor  had  she  showed  any  unwill- 
ingness to  listen.  It  is  not  a  woman's  first  love  for 
which  she  wrecks  her  life ;  it  is  her  last  love — that 
final  struggle  for  supremacy.  There  can  be  no 
more  after  that.  Sappho,  on  the  great  white  rock 
of  Mitylene,  knew  this  and  perished. 

Some    thoughts   like   this   came   into   Constance 
[63] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
Maitland's  mind,  and,  driving  away  her  colour,  re- 
stored to  her  the  lately  vanished  years.    Silence  fell 
between  them  for  a  while,  until  Constance  roused 
herself,  and,  affecting  cheerfulness,  said : 

"I  shall  study  the  Congressional  Record  with  in- 
terest. Everything  in  one's  own  country  is  of  in- 
terest after  a  long  and  painful  exile." 

"You  should  read  Lord  Bolingbroke's  defence  of 
exile,"  replied  Thorndyke,  moving  a  little  nearer  to 
her,  and  resting  his  elbow  on  the  back  of  the  bench 
so  that  he  could  look  into  her  pensive,  changing 
face. 

"And  yet,  I  daresay,  Lord  Bolingbroke  pined  in 
his  exile.  Nobody  believed  him  when  he  said  he  did 
not  mind.  Mine,  however,  was  complete.  My 
uncle,  von  Hesselt,  who  was  an  honourable  man  in 
his  way,  thought  he  was  carrying  out  my  aunt's 
wishes  by  keeping  me  wholly  away  from  all  Ameri- 
cans and  wholly  with  foreigners." 

"But  you  could  have  left  him  after  you  were  of 
age." 

"Ah,  you  do  not  know !    He  was  the  most  terrible 
sufferer  you  can  imagine,  for  fifteen  years.     And 
what  was  worse,  he  was  surrounded  by  people,  his 
[64] 


DOWN  AMONG  THE  CAPTAINS 
own  relatives,  who,  I  truly  believe,  would  have  short- 
ened his  life  if  they  could.  He  knew  this,  and 
feared  it  even  more  than  was  reasonable.  Once,  my 
longing  for  my  country  grew  such  that  it  over- 
came me,  and  I  told  my  uncle  I  must,  I  must  come 
to  America.  He  pleaded  with  me — imagine  an  old 
man,  whose  life  was  one  long  stretch  of  pain  and 
fear,  pleading  with  you  until  he  fell  prone  in  a 
paroxysm  of  despair!  I,  too,  was  in  despair,  and 
I  promised  him  I  would  remain  with  him  during  his 
life. — I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  saying — I  was  not 
twenty-one  at  the  time — but  I  knew  well  enough 
after  it  was  said.  I  kept  my  word,  and  I  nursed  him 
through  his  last  illness  and  closed  his  eyes  in  death. 
Then,  as  soon  as  all  was  over,  I  sailed  for  America. 
I  feel  now  as  if  I  never  wished  to  see  Europe  again." 

"And  did  Baron  von  Hesselt  realise  the  enormous 
sacrifice  you  made  for  him?" 

"Yes — that  is,  partly." 

"Your  aunt  certainly  was  most  unjust  to  you," 
said  Thorndyke,  coolly.  "I  mean,  that  provision 
robbing  you  of  all  your  fortune  in  case  you  marry 
an  American." 

"Yes,  very  unjust,"  replied  Constance,  with  equal 
[65] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
coolness,    although    the     flush    returned    to    her 
cheeks. 

"And  I— I  was  to  blame  for  that,"  cried  Thorn- 
dyke,  venturing  farther  upon  ticklish  ground. 

"Not  altogether,"  replied  Constance,  maintain- 
ing the  steadiness  of  her  voice.  "My  aunt  hated 
our  country;  she  could  not  forget  the  Civil  War; 
and  she  meant — poor  soul,  I  forgive  her  now — 
that  I  should  never  return  to  America  permanently. 
It  was  a  strange  thing  to  do,  but  I  must  admit 
my  aunt  to  have  been  in  some  respects  both  a  strange 
and  a  foolish  woman.  Let  us  not  speak  of  her 
again.  I  am  back,  and  if  I  feel  as  I  do  now  I  shall 
never  live  in  Europe  again.  It  is  time  for  me  to 
prepare  to  grow  old." 

She  said  this  'with  a  wan  little  smile,  and  all  at 
once  thought  with  terror  of  her  age ;  there  was  but 
four  or  five  years'  difference  between  Thorndyke 
and  herself,  and  that  difference,  at  a  certain  point, 
becomes  transferred  to  the  gentleman's  side  of  the 
ledger.  Suddenly  the  spring  afternoon  seemed  to 
become  melancholy  and  overcast.  A  sharp  wind 
sprang  up  from  the  near-by  river;  the  world 
turned  from  gold  to  gray.  At  the  same  moment 
[66] 


DOWN    AMONG    THE    CAPTAINS 
Thorndyke  and  Constance  rose  and  walked  away 
from  the  spot  that  had  been  only  a  little  while  ago 
so  sweet  and  sunny. 

"Why  is  it,"  asked  Constance,  as  they  followed 
the  pathway  leading  out  of  the  park,  "a  spring 
morning  is  the  merriest  thing  in  life,  and  a  spring 
evening  the  saddest?" 

"Why  should  anything  be  sad  to  you,  spring 
evenings  or  any  other  times?"  asked  Thorndyke, 
quietly  and  with  perfect  sincerity. 

"Why  should  any  one  be  sad  at  all?  Because 
we  are  human,  I  suppose,"  was  Constance's  answer 
to  this. 

As  they  came  out  upon  the  streets,  which  were 
less  deserted  than  usual,  Thorndyke  looked  toward 
the  south  wing  of  the  Capitol.  The  flag  was  flut- 
tering down  from  its  flag-staff . 

"The  House  has  adjourned,"  he  said,  "and  some 
history  has  been  made  to-day — likewise  a  great  rep- 
utation for  our  friend  Crane." 

The  brougham  was  driving  up  and  down,  and  the 

coachman,  perceiving  the  graceful  black  figure  on 

the    sidewalk,    drove    toward    them.      Thorndyke 

noted,  with  disgust,  the  elegance  of  the  turnout — 

[67] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
the  two  perfectly  matched  cobs,  the  silver-mounted 
harness  of  Spanish  leather,  the  miniature  brougham 
with  "C.  M."  in  cipher  on  the  panels — the  whole 
must  have  cost  about  half  his  yearly  income.  This, 
together  with  Crane's  remarkable  triumph,  made 
him  surly,  and  he  said,  stiffly,  as  he  assisted  Con- 
stance into  the  brougham : 

"You  gave  me  permission  to  call  to-day." 

"Yes,  but  I  withdraw  it.  It  is  now  nearly  three 
o'clock.  I  have  not  had  my  luncheon,  I  am 
tired,  and  I  must  rest  this  afternoon,  and  I  go  out 
to  dinner.  To-morrow  at  five." 

Her  tone  and  manner  discounted  her  words.  It 
was  as  if  she  were  saying :  "I  must  save  something 
for  to-morrow — I  will  not  be  a  spendthrift  of  my 
joys."  Thorndyke,  finding  nothing  to  discompose 
him  in  her  words,  replied,  in  a  very  good  humour : 

"It  is  always  to-morrow — but  to-morrow  is  bet- 
ter than  not  at  all.  Good-bye." 

The  brougham  rolled  off,  and  Thorndyke 
stepped  aboard  a  street-car  bound  for  the  West  End. 

At   the   Capitol  plaza   a    great   crowd   got  on, 
among  them  the  two  gentlemen  whom  Thorndyke 
affectionately  described  as  his  boss  and  Crane's  boss. 
[68] 


DOWN  AMONG  THE  CAPTAINS 
The  two  men  stood  together  on  the  platform  out- 
side. Both  of  them  revealed  in  their  faces  their 
mastery  of  men  and  affairs,  for  your  true  boss  is 
necessarily  a  very  considerable  man.  Senator 
Standiford,  Thorndyke's  boss,  had  an  iron  jaw, 
which  was  emphasised  by  a  low  brow,  but  his  face 
was  not  without  a  touch  of  ideality.  Senator 
Bicknell,  Crane's  boss,  had  likewise  a  determined 
face,  but  his  forehead  and  eyes  betrayed  the  human 
weakness  which  made  him  like  clever  men  as  his  in- 
struments. Both  men  were  millionaires.  Senator 
Standiford  lived  in  three  rooms  at  a  hotel,  rode  in 
street-cars,  and  gave  liberally  of  his  money  to  cam- 
paign funds,  charities,  and  his  poor  relations,  but 
was  never  known  to  part  with  an  atom  of  his  power 
if  he  could  help  it.  Senator  Bicknell  fared  sumptu- 
ously every  day,  had  a  splendid  house  and  gorgeous 
carriages,  only  rode  in  the  street-cars  for  a  lark, 
and  was  reported  to  be  a  skinflint  in  money  matters, 
and  somewhat  foolishly  lavish  in  giving  away  his 
power.  The  two  men  exchanged  some  words  which 
Thorndyke,  wedged  inside  as  he  was,  could  not  but 
hear.  Senator  Standiford  was  saying  to  his  col- 
league : 

[69] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

"S.  M.  &  L.  stock  must  be  going  down  when  you 
ride  in  a  street-car." 

"I  lost  one  of  my  coach-horses  last  night,"  re- 
plied Senator  Bicknell,  "and  can't  use  my  carriage 
to-day." 

"Misfortunes  never  come  singly,"  said  Senator 
Standiford,  enigmatically,  then  adding,  "I  suppose 
it's  in  order  to  congratulate  you  on  the  success  of 
your  protege,  Crane,  to-day?" 

Thorndyke  could  scarcely  keep  from  laughing 
at  the  look  of  chagrin  which  came  over  Senator 
Bicknell's  countenance  at  this. 

"Y-yes,"  he  answered,  dubiously. 

"Don't  get  in  a  panic,"  kept  on  Senator  Standi- 
ford, with  rude  good-humour;  "I  know  how  it  is 
with  those  fellows.  Crane  thinks  from  this  day 
forth  that  you  are  a  back  number,  an  old  fogy, 
and  a  dead  cock  in  the  pit.  He  will  go  into  what  he 
considers  a  grooming  process  for  the  next  four 
years — oh,  I  know  those  fellows !  He  will  kick  up 
a  lot  of  dust  in  the  gubernatorial  convention,  will 
make  a  great  display  of  not  wanting  the  nomina- 
tion, and  will  bide  his  time  until  your  term  expires. 
Then  he  will  find  it  is  a  grueling  and  not  a  groom- 
[70] 


DOWN    AMONG    THE    CAPTAINS 
ing  he  has  had,  and  he  will  get  a  small  bunch  of 
votes,  but  I  don't  think  you  need  take  the  fellow 
seriously  just  now." 

At  this  last  sentence  Senator  Bicknell's  face  shone 
like  the  sun.  It  shone  the  more  when  Senator 
Standif  ord  kept  on : 

"There's  no  reason  to  fear  a  man  who  makes  a 
good  speech " 

"I  am  in  no  fear  of  any  one,"  gravely  replied 
Senator  Bicknell,  who  thought  it  essential  to  his 
dignity  to  say  so  much. 

"It's  the  strong  debater  who  is  likely  to  become 
formidable.  There's  Thorndyke  now — Crane  has 
made  the  speech — largely  Thorndyke's — but  he  is 
totally  unequal  to  the  running  fire  of  debate. 
Thorndyke  could  do  him  up  inside  of  ten  minutes. 
Luckily  for  him,  the  debate  will  not  be  fierce,  and 
Thorndyke  will  really  conduct  it." 

"Mr.  Thorndyke  is  a  very  able  man,"  said  Sena- 
tor Bicknell,  as  if  thinking  aloud. 

"Yes,  but  totally  without  ambition,"  replied 
Senator  Standiford,  gravely,  and  Thorndyke, 
within  the  car,  laughed  silently. 

It  was,  however,  no  laughing  matter,  but  Thorn- 
[71] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
dyke,  having  chosen  his  role  for  better  or  for  worse, 
could  only  cleave  to  it,  forsaking  all  others.  How- 
ever, he  would  see  Constance  Maitland  the  next  day 
at  five  o'clock.  There  was  balm  in  Gilead,  or  hash- 
eesh in  the  pipe,  he  knew  not  exactly  which. 


[72] 


Chapter  Four 

GOVEENMENT  WITHOUT  THE  CONSENT  OF  THE 
GOVERNED 

Life  is  a  battle  and  a  march — especially  public  life. 
Thorndyke  waked  the  next  morning  prepared  for 
both  a  battle  and  a  march.  A  glance  at  the  morn- 
ing newspapers  showed  that  the  country  was  entire- 
ly with  the  Congress,  and  the  people,  having  given 
their  orders,  would  see  to  it  that  these  orders  were 
promptly  obeyed.  The  Continental  press  of  Eu- 
rope with  few  exceptions  barked  furiously.  The 
French  newspapers  alone  retained  dignity  and  good 
sense,  pointing  out  the  inevitable  trend  of  events, 
and  advised  that,  instead  of  abusing  the  United 
States,  they  should  be  copied  in  that  system  which 
had  made  them  great,  not  by  war,  but  by  peace.  The 
English  newspapers  were  fair,  but  in  some  of  them 
bitterness  was  expressed  at  England  being  shoul- 
dered out  of  her  place  as  the  greatest  of  the  world- 
powers  by  the  young  giant  of  the  West.  There 
[73] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
was  in  all  of  them,  however,  a  note  of  triumph,  that 
this  first  place  had  been  lost  only  to  an  offshoot  of 
the  sturdy  parent  stock.  This  sentiment  is  often 
ridiculed  as  a  peculiarly  absurd  form  of  national 
self-love,  but  there  is,  in  reality,  nothing  ridiculous 
about  it.  As  long  as  self-love  is  a  part  of  nations 
and  individuals,  so  long  will  each  nation  and  each 
individual  strive  to  share  in  the  general  stock  of 
glory,  achievement,  and  success. 

In  the  American  newspapers  the  man  most 
prominent  was  Crane.  He  was  compared  to  Henry 
Clay,  to  Stephen  A.  Douglas,  to  any  and  every 
American  public  man  who  had  early  in  life  made 
a  meteoric  rise  in  Congress.  He  was  represented 
as  the  embodiment  of  youth  with  the  wisdom  of 
age.  One  newspaper  reckoned  him  to  be  a  political 
Chatterton,  and  called  him  "the  Wondrous  Boy." 
His  beauty  was  lauded,  his  voice,  his  delivery,  the 
fit  of  his  torusers;  and  one  enthusiastic  journal  in 
Indianapolis  promptly  nominated  him  for  the 
Presidency.  Thorndyke  searched  the  newspapers 
carefully,  and  did  not  find  his  own  name  once  men- 
tioned. He  reflected  upon  Horace  Greely's  remark 
that  fame  is  a  vapour. 

[74] 


GOVERNMENT  WITHOUT  CONSENT 
Disappointing  as  it  was  to  him  to  feel  that  an- 
other had  reaped  his  harvest,  it  did  not  give  him 
acute  pain ;  for  he  had  waked  that  morning  with 
the  agreeable  consciousness  which  comes  occasion- 
ally to  every  human  being,  that  the  world  is  more 
interesting  to-day  than  it  was  yesterday ;  that  con- 
sciousness which  illuminates  the  cold,  gray  stage  of 
life,  and  indicates  that  the  lights  are  about  to  be 
turned  up  and  the  play  to  begin.  The  kind  tones 
of  Constance  Maitland's  voice  were  still  in  Thorn- 
dyke's  ears,  and  the  unmistakable  look  of  interest 
in  her  soft  eyes  had  visited  him  in  dreams.  He  was 
no  nearer  marrying  her  than  he  had  been  at  any 
time  during  the  past  eighteen  years;  the  same  ob- 
stacle was  there — a  very  large,  real,  terrifying,  and 
obvious  obstacle — but  there  was  also  a  sweet  and 
comforting  suspicion  in  his  mind  that  Constance, 
as  well  as  himself,  had  cherished  the  idyl  of  their 
youth.  And  then,  by  daylight,  she  did  not  look  so 
preposterously  girlish  as  she  had  looked  by  moon- 
light and  in  ball-dress.  This  gave  Thorndyke  con- 
siderable pleasure  as  he  brushed  the  remnants  of  his 
hair  into  positions  where  they  would  do  the  most 
good.  Her  apparent  advantage  of  him  in  the  mat- 
[75] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
ter  of  youth  and  good  looks  had  been  disturbing  to 
him  at  first.  She  still  had  much  of  youth  and 
great  good  looks,  but  yet,  a  man  with  scanty  hair 
and  a  grayish  moustache  would  not  look  like  an  old 
fool  beside  her,  as  he  had  feared. 

Thorndyke,  according  to  his  custom,  walked  to 
the  Capitol.  The  morning,  like  most  spring  morn- 
ings in  Washington,  was  as  beautiful  as  the  first 
morning  in  the  garden  of  Eden.  He  chose  unfre- 
quented streets,  and,  passing  under  the  long  green 
arcades,  had  only  the  trees  for  his  companionship 
on  his  walk. 

Instead  of  reaching  the  building  by  way  of  the 
plaza,  Thorndyke  chose  rather  to  ascend  the  long 
flights  of  steps  leading  upward  from  terrace  to  ter- 
race on  the  west  front.  It  is  a  way  little  used,  but 
singularly  beautiful,  with  its  marble  balustrades,  its 
lush  greenness  of  shrubbery,  and  the  noble  view  both 
of  the  building  and  the  fair  white  city  embosomed 
in  trees,  spread  out  like  a  dream-city  before  the  eye. 
Half-way  up  Thorndyke  saw  Senator  Standiford 
sitting  on  one  of  the  iron  benches  placed  on  the 
falls  of  the  terrace.  Thorndyke  was  surprised  to 
see  him  there,  and  it  occurred  to  him  at  once  that 
[76] 


GOVERNMENT    WITHOUT    CONSENT 
it  was  a  premeditated  meeting  on  the  Senator's 
part. 

He  was  a  tall,  ugly  old  man  with  chin-whiskers, 
but  his  appearance  was  redeemed  by  the  power 
which  spoke  from  his  strongly  marked  face,  and 
by  his  punctilious,  old-fashioned  dress  and  extreme 
neatness.  He  wore  a  silk  hat  made  from  a  block  he 
had  used  for  thirty  years.  His  coat,  gray  and 
wide-skirted,  seemed  of  the  same  vintage,  and  his 
spotless  collar  of  antique  pattern,  and  his  large 
black  silk  necktie  might  have  been  worn  by  Daniel 
Webster  himself.  A  big  pair  of  gold  spectacles 
and  a  gold-headed  cane  completed  a  costume  which 
was  admirably  harmonious,  and  produced  the  effect 
of  an  old  lady  in  1903  with  the  side  curls  and  cap 
of  1853. 

The  Senator  had  a  newspaper  spread  out  before 
him,  but  as  Thorndyke  approached  folded  it  up, 
pushed  his  gold  spectacles  up  on  his  forehead,  and 
called  out : 

"Hello !  Have  you  read  about  the  'Wondrous 
Boy'  this  morning?" 

"I  have,"  replied  Thorndyke,  smiling  pleasantly 
as  he  lifted  his  hat,  and  in  response  to  a  silent  invi- 
[77] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
tation  he  seated  himself  on  the  bench  by  Standi- 
ford's  side. 

"Great  speech,  that,"  continued  the  Senator. 
"At  first  I  was  disposed  to  give  you  the  credit  for 
all  of  it — but  there's  something  in  that  fellow 
Crane.  You  couldn't  have  coached  him  so  well  if 
he  hadn't  been  capable  of  learning." 

"You  do  me  too  much  honour,"  replied  'Thorn- 
dyke,  laughing,  but  with  something  like  bitterness. 

Senator  Standiford  continued  with  a  dry  con- 
tortion of  the  lips  which  was  meant  for  a  smile : 

"But  you'll  see,  my  son,  that  your  friend  Crane 
won't  grow  quite  so  fast  as  he  thinks  he  will.  In 
our  times  public  men  require  the  seasoning  of  expe- 
rience before  they  amount  to  anything.  There'll  be 
no  more  Henry  Clays  elected  to  the  House  of  Rep- 
resentatives before  they  are  thirty.  The  world  was 
young,  then,  but  we  have  matured  rapidly.  It  is 
true  that  we  have  relaxed  the  rule  of  the  Senate  a 
little,  and  allow  the  new  senators  to  speak  in  the 
Senate  Chamber  at  a  much  earlier  period  in  their 
senatorial  service  than  formerly.  But  speech-mak- 
ing is  a  dangerous  pastime.  Much  of  the  small  suc- 
cess I  have  achieved" — here  Senator  Standiford's 
[78] 


GOVERNMENT  WITHOUT  CONSENT 
face  assumed  a  peculiar  expression  of  solemnity 
which  made  him  look  like  a  deacon  handing  around 
the  church  plate — "I  lay  to  the  fact  that  I  never 
could  make  a  speech  in  my  life,  and  I  found  it  out 
at  an  early  stage  in  my  career.  I'm  a  Presbyterian, 
as  you  know,  but  in  my  town  I'm  classed  as  a  here- 
tic and  an  iconoclast,  because  when  they  want  to 
call  a  new  preacher  and  to  have  him  preach  a  speci- 
men sermon  I  always  tell  the  elders,  'Why  do  you 
want  to  judge  the  fellow  by  the  way  he  talks?  It's 
the  poorest  test  in  the  world  to  apply  to  a  man. 
Find  out  what  he  can  do.'  But  they  won't  listen  to 
me,  of  course,  and  the  Fourth  Presbyterian  Church 
is  perennially  filled  by  a  human  wind-bag,  who 
snorts  and  puffs  and  blows  dust  about  until  the 
congregation  get  tired  of  him  and  try  another  wind- 
bag. In  Congress  wind-bags  don't  last." 

"All  the  same,  I  wish  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart  that  I  had  had  Crane's  chance  yesterday  and 
had  used  it  as  well,"  replied  Thorndyke. 

"If  you  had  you  would  have  given  our  junior 
Senator  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour,"  replied  Senator 
Standiford,  gravely. 

Now,  in  common  with  all  true  Senatorial  bosses, 
[79] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
Standiford  had  seen  to  it  that  his  junior  Senator 
was  a  man  of  straw,  put  in  the  place  in  order  that 
the  boss  might  have  two  votes  in  the  Senate.  Never 
had  the  junior  Senator  yet  voted  or  acted  in  oppo- 
sition to  his  master;  but  had  Thorndyke  been  the 
junior  it  would  have  been  another  story,  and  both 
men  knew  it.  This  caused  Thorndyke  to  remark, 
coolly : 

"He  would  have  no  reason  to  disturb  himself — 
the  ass !  You  have  been  kind  enough  to  give  me  to 
understand  that  I  am  ineligible  for  promotion, 
not  being  made  of  putty,  as  our  junior  Senator 
is." 

"Now,  now!"  remonstrated  Senator  Standiford, 
again  assuming  his  air  of  a  seventeenth-century 
Puritan.  "To  hear  you  anybody  would  think  that 
our  State  organisation  didn't  want  every  first- 
class  man  it  can  get !  We  have  the  highest  regard 
for  your  services,  and  we  do  what  we  can  to  keep 
you  in  your  present  place  because  we  see  your  use- 
fulness there." 

Senator  Standiford  punctiliously  used  the  eu- 
phemism "we"  just  as  he  gravely  consulted  all  the 
pothouse  politicians  and  heelers  in  "the  organisa- 
[80] 


GOVERNMENT    WITHOUT    CONSENT 
tion,"  but  it  did  not  materially  affect  the  fact  that 
he  was  the  whole  proposition  in  his  own  State. 

Thorndyke  looked  full  into  the  deep,  calm  eyes 
of  the  rugged  old  man  before  him,  and  could  not 
forbear  laughing;  but  there  was  not  the  glimmer 
of  a  twinkle  in  them.  Presently  the  old  man  said, 
coolly : 

"Suppose  I  should  tell  you  that  I  may  retire  at 
the  end  of  my  term,  two  years  from  now?" 

"I  should  wish  to  believe  anything  you  say,  my 
dear  Senator,  but  I  am  afraid  I  couldn't  believe 
that." 

"What  a  fellow  you  are !  But  let  me  tell  you — 
mind,  this  is  a  confidence  between  gentlemen — my 
retirement  is  not  impossible.  You  know  my  daugh- 
ter, my  little  Letty " 

As  Senator  Standiford  spoke  the  name  his  face 
softened,  and  a  passion  of  parental  love  shone  in 
his  deep-set  eyes. 

"She  is  a  very  remarkable  girl,  Mr.  Thorndyke, 
very  remarkable;  and  she  loves  her  old  father 
better  than  he  deserves.  I  have  as  good  sons  as 
any  man  ever  had — but  that  daughter  left  me  by 
my  dead  wife  is  worth  to  me  everything  else  on 
[81] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
God's  earth.  The  doctors  have  been  frightening 
her  about  me  lately.  They  tell  her  I  work  too  hard 
for  my  time  of  life — that  I  ought  to  take  a  rest, 
and  if  I  will  do  it  I  can  add  ten  years  to  my  life. 
Now,  you  know,  the  State  organisation  will  never 
let  me  take  a  rest" — Senator  Standiford  said  this 
quite  seriously — "and  Letty  as  good  as  told  me  six 
months  ago  that  if  I  should  be  re-elected  to  the  Sen- 
ate"— the  Senator  uttered  this  "if"  in  a  tone  of  the 
most  modest  deprecation — "if  I  should  be  re-elected 
for  another  term — as  she  wishes  me  to  be — then  she 
wants  me  to  resign.  I  don't  mind  admitting  that 
if  any  other  human  being  had  said  this  to  me  except 
my  daughter  Letty,  I  should  have  reckoned  myself 
drunk  or  crazy  to  have  listened  to  it.  But  my 
daughter,  as  I  mentioned  to  you,  is  a  remarkable 
girl.  Besides,  the  child  is  not  strong  herself,  and 
if  she  gets  to  worrying  about  me — well,  you  can 
see,  Mr.  Thorndyke,  how  it  is  with  me.  The  world 
credits  me  with  loving  place  and  power  above  every- 
thing on  earth,  but  there  is  something  dearer  to  me 
than  the  office  of  President  of  the  United  States: 
it  is  my  daughter.  And  the  sweetness  and  the  ten- 
derness of  that  child  for  her  old  father " 

[82] 


GOVERNMENT    WITHOUT    CONSENT 

Here  Senator  Standiford  took  out  a  large  red 
silk  handkerchief  and  blew  a  blast  like  the  blast  of 
Roncesvalles. 

Being  an  accomplished  judge  of  men,  Senator 
Standiford,  while  speaking,  had  watched  Thorn- 
dyke  closely.  Had  he  shown  any  undue  elation  over 
the  political  prospects  indicated  by  Senator  Standi- 
ford's  possible  retirement,  Thorndyke's  fortunes 
would  have  been  ruined.  But  by  the  lucky  accident 
of  having  a  good  heart  he  said  the  most  judicious 
thing  possible. 

"I  don't  see  any  indications  of  overwork  in  you, 
Senator.  At  the  same  time  I  know  you  do  the  work 
of  ten  men,  and  I  also  know  the  exercise  of  power  is 
so  dear  to  you  that,  from  the  pound-master  in  your 
own  town  up  to  the  candidate  for  President,  you 
give  everything  your  personal  supervision.  But  as 
for  Miss  Standiford's  not  being  strong — why,  I 
took  her  in  to  dinner  less  than  a  month  ago,  and  re- 
marked on  her  freshness  and  beauty.  She  looked 
the  picture  of  health  and  ate  more  dinner  than  I 
did." 

"Did  she  ?"  asked  the  Senator,  anxiously.  "What 
did  she  eat?" 

[83] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

Thorndyke  did  not  feel  in  the  least  like  laughing 
at  Senator  Standiford's  inquiry,  and  answered, 
promptly : 

"Oh,  everything.  I  remember  chaffing  her  about 
her  good  appetite." 

"Thank  God!  The  doctors  say  if  she  can  only 
eat  and  live  out  in  the  fresh  air  and  play  golf  and 
ride  horseback  she  will  be  all  right.  But,  Thorn- 
dyke,  I  swear  to  you,  I  am  as  soft  as  milk  about 
that  girl.  If  she  goes  out  to  golf  I  am  unhappy 
for  fear  she  will  take  cold.  If  she  rides  I  am  in  ter- 
ror for  fear  some  accident  will  happen  to  her.  Ah, 
Thorndyke,  a  man  is  no  fit  guardian  for  a  girl  like 
that — the  sweetest — the  most  affectionate " 

Here  Senator  Standiford  again  blew  his  nose  vio- 
lently. 

"She  has  always  been  very  sweet  to  me,"  an- 
swered Thorndyke,  "although  I  believe  she  thinks 
me  old  enough  to  be  her  grandfather." 

"She  is  a  very  remarkable  girl,  sir;  that  I  say 
without  the  least  partiality,"  replied  Senator 
Standiford,  earnestly.  "She's  a  little  wild,  having 
no  mother,  poor  child — but  her  heart,  sir,  is  in  the 
right  place.  And  the  way  she  loves  her  old  father 
[84] 


GOVERNMENT    WITHOUT    CONSENT 

is  the  most  splendid,  touching,  exquisite  thing  ever 
imagined !" 

Thorndyke  listened  attentively,  deeply  interested 
in  the  human  side  of  a  man  who  had  seemed  to  him  to 
have  a  very  small  amount  of  the  purely  human  in 
him.  The  little  story  of  Letty  Standiford's  health 
and  heart  and  nature  did  not  strike  him  as  puerile — 
there  was  nothing  puerile  about  Silas  Standiford, 
and  his  love  for  this  child  of  his  old  age  was,  in 
truth,  a  Titanic  passion,  strong  enough,  as  he  said, 
to  make  him  forego  the  chief  object  of  his  existence : 
power  over  other  men.  Thorndyke  really  liked  and 
pitied  Letty  Standiford,  living  her  young  life  with- 
out guidance,  in  a  manner  possible  only  in  America 
and  not  desirable  anywhere  for  a  young  girl.  He 
had  not  suspected  the  delicacy  of  her  constitution, 
and  after  Senator  Standiford  ceased  speaking  said : 

"I  wish,  Senator,  you  could  persuade  Miss  Stand- 
iford to  be  a  little  more  prudent  about  her  health. 
The  night  I  dined  out  with  her,  when  it  came  time 
to  go  home  she  was  about  to  pick  up  her  skirts  and 
run  two  blocks  to  your  hotel,  in  her  satin  slippers, 
with  sleet  coming  down,  and  the  streets  like  glass — 
this,  for  a  lark.  I  took  her  by  the  arm  and  shoved 
[85] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
her  in  a  cab,  got  in  myself,  and  took  her  home.     I 
thought  she  would  box  my  ears  before  I  got  there, 
but  I  carried  my  point." 

"She  told  me  about  it — she  tells  me  everything; 
and  I  thank  you  for  taking  care  of  the  child.  You 
may  imagine  what  I  suffer  on  her  account." 

Senator  Standiford  rose  then,  and,  resting  both 
hands  on  his  old-fashioned  gold-headed  stick,  he 
looked  full  into  Thorndyke's  face,  and  said,  slowly : 

"I  hope  we  understand  each  other,  Mr.  Thorn- 
dyke.  We  think  you  a  very  strong  man,  and  strong 
men  are  liable  to  become  dangerous.  The  State  or- 
ganisation wishes  you  to  remain  where  you  are. 
But  in  the  event  that  I  should  be  re-elected  and 
should  be  forced  to  resign,  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
saying  that  unless  something  unforeseen  happens 
you  would  certainly  have  my  personal  good  wishes 
toward  getting  you  the  party  nomination  for  Sena- 
tor." 

"I  understand  you  perfectly,  Senator,"  replied 
Thorndyke,  with  equal  coolness,  "and  though  I  ad- 
mit I  think  it  a  shameful  state  of  affairs  that  any 
organisation  or  any  man  should  have  the  power 
to  dispose  of  any  man's  political  future,  yet  it  is  a 
[86] 


GOVERNMENT  WITHOUT  CONSENT 
fixed  fact  in  our  State  and  can't  be  helped  for  the 
present.  So  far  as  your  personal  kindness  to  me 
goes  I  have  the  deepest  sense  of  it,  and  the  chances 
are,  on  the  strength  of  what  you  have  just  said,  that 
I  may  one  day  be  senator." 

"And  when  you  are  you  won't  be  as  much  down 
on  the  State  organisation  as  you  are  now,"  re- 
marked Senator  Standiford,  beginning  to  climb  the 
marble  steps.  "You  will  probably  be  called  a  boss 
yourself." 

"No,  I  shall  not,"  answered  Thorndyke.  "I 
shouldn't  have  the  heart  to  put  men  through  the 
mill  as  I  have  seen  you  and  Senator  Bicknell  and  a 
few  others  do." 

Senator  Standiford  professed  to  regard  this  as  a 
pleasantry,  and  so  they  entered  the  Capitol  to- 
gether. 

The  day  was  the  regular  one  for  the  meeting  of 
the  House  Foreign  Affairs  Committee,  and  there 
was  a  full  attendance,  every  member  being  prompt 
except  the  chairman.  Ten  minutes  after  the  hour 
struck,  Crane  entered.  It  was  almost  impossible  for 
a  man  to  have  had  the  personal  triumph  he  had  en- 
joyed the  day  before,  without  showing  some  con- 
[87] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
sciousness  of  it.  Thorndyke  had  expected  to  see 
Crane  crowing  like  chanticleer.  Instead,  he  was 
remarkably  quiet  and  subdued.  He  was  greeted 
with  the  chaff  which  senators  and  representatives 
indulge  in  after  the  manner  of  collegians.  Several 
members  addressed  him  as  the  "Wondrous  Boy," 
and  others,  displaying  copies  of  the  Indianapolis 
editorial,  presented  their  claims  to  him  for  cabinet 
places  and  embassies.  One  member — the  Honour- 
able Mark  Antony  Hudgins,  a  colleague  of  Crane's, 
who  posed  as  a  greenhorn  and  was  really  a  wit — sol- 
emnly engaged  Thorndyke  to  write  him  a  speech 
to  deliver  at  the  first  seasonable  opportunity,  but 
warned  him  not  to  make  it  too  much  like  the  speech 
of  the  "Wondrous  Boy."  Thorndyke  laughed.  He 
had  taken  no  part  in  the  joking  and  chaffing. 
Crane's  face  flushed.  He  did  not  like  to  be  remind- 
ed of  Thorndyke's  share  in  his  success,  but  he  was 
too  considerable  a  man  to  deny  it. 

The  meeting  was  brief  and  devoted  to  routine 
matters.  The  debate  would  begin  directly  after  the 
morning  hour,  and  it  was  supposed  it  would  go 
along  smoothly.  There  was,  it  is  true,  an  able  and 
malevolent  person  from  Massachusetts  who  would 
[88] 


GOVERNMENT  WITHOUT  CONSENT 
be  likely  to  stick  a  knife  between  the  joints  of 
Crane's  armour,  and  two  or  three  Southern  mem- 
bers who  would  be  certain  to  discover  an  infringe- 
ment of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  in 
something  or  other — but  these  were  only  the  ex- 
pected rough  spots  in  an  otherwise  smooth  road. 

At  two  o'clock  the  debate  began.  Again  were 
the  galleries  packed,  though  not  to  the  same  degree 
as  on  the  day  before.  When  Crane  rose  to  defend 
the  report  he  was  loudly  applauded.  He  was  inter- 
rupted once  or  twice  by  the  able  and  malevolent 
representative  from  Massachusetts,  who  never  dis- 
appointed expectations  in  that  particular.  And 
there  were  some  sly  allusions  to  the  Indianapolis 
newspaper  and  the  "Wondrous  Boy."  This  both- 
ered Crane  obviously,  who  had  a  reasonable  and 
wholesome  fear  of  ridicule.  He  had  his  share  of  a 
certain  crude  humour — God  never  makes  an  Amer- 
ican without  putting  humour  of  some  sort  into  him 
— but  Crane's  was  not  the  rapid-fire,  give-and-take 
humour  which  counts  in  debate.  He  was  always 
afraid  of  committing  some  breach  of  taste  and  de- 
corum when  he  wished  to  raise  a  laugh.  He  remem- 
bered certain  men  whose  remarks  had  caused  a  tern- 
[89] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
pest  of  mirth  in  the  House,  but  those  same  remarks 
seen  in  cold  type  next  day  had  seriously  damaged 
their  authors.  It  was  here  that  Thorndyke  came 
to  Crane's  rescue.  While  he  sat  glowering  and 
fuming  and  hesitating,  Thorndyke  stood  in  the 
breach  with  a  good  story,  full  of  wit  and  pith.  The 
House  immediately  went  into  convulsions  of  laugh- 
ter. The  able  and  malevolent  member  from  Massa- 
chusetts in  vain  tried  to  bring  the  gentlemen  back 
to  a  state  of  seriousness  and  disgust  with  affairs 
generally.  But  the  turn  injected  by  Thorndyke 
into  the  discussion  put  everybody  into  a  good  hu- 
mour, the  debate  went  swimmingly,  as  it  was  fore- 
seen, and  when  the  adjournment  came  it  was  plain 
that  the  report  would  be  adopted  substantially  as 
it  came  from  the  committee. 

Thorndyke  watched  the  big  clock  over  the  main 
doorway,  and  precisely  at  four  left  the  chamber, 
and  likewise  left  Crane  to  his  fate,  which,  however, 
proved  to  be  easy  enough.  Thorndyke  had  other 
business  on  hand  then. 


[90] 


Chapter  Five 

A      RAPTUROUS    HOUR    WHICH    WAS    RUDELY    INTER- 
RUPTED 

When  Thorndyke  got  out  of  doors  the  bright 
morning  had  changed  into  a  cold,  determined  down- 
pour of  rain.  The  gray  mists  hung  over  the  city 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  the  summit  of  the  monu- 
ment was  obscured  by  sullen  driving  clouds. 
Thorndyke's  spirits  rose  as  he  surveyed  the  gloomy 
prospect.  It  was  not  much  of  an  afternoon  for  vis- 
iting— he  should  find  Constance  alone. 

He  went  to  his  rooms,  dressed,  and  before  five 
was  at  Constance  Maitland's  door.  The  afternoon 
had  grown  worse.  A  sad  northeast  wind  had  been 
added  to  the  rain ;  the  lilac-bushes  in  the  little  lawn 
at  the  side  of  the  house  drooped  forlornly,  and  the 
dejected  syringas  looked  like  young  ladies  caught 
out  in  the  rain  in  their  ball-gowns. 

The  rain,  the  cold,  and  the  wind  outside  was  the 
best  possible  foil  for  the  fire-lighted  and  flower- 
[91] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
scented  drawing-room,  into  which  the  young  negro 
butler  ushered  Thorndyke.  The  walls  were  of  the 
delicate  pale  green  of  the  sea,  the  rug  on  the  pol- 
ished floor  was  of  the  green  of  the  moss.  A  wood- 
fire  danced  and  sang  in  a  white-tiled  fireplace,  and 
laughed  at  its  reflection  in  the  quaint  mirrors  about 
the  room,  and  glowed  upon  family  portraits  and 
miniatures  on  the  walls.  There  were  many  old-fash- 
ioned chairs  and  tables,  and  a  deep,  deep  sofa  drawn 
up  to  the  fire.  By  its  side  was  a  tea-table  gleaming 
with  antique  silver. 

Like  most  men,  Thorndyke  was  highly  suscepti- 
ble to  the  environment  of  women  without  being  in 
the  least  able  to  analyse  the  feeling.  It  takes  a 
woman  to  dissect  an  emotion  thoroughly.  He  be- 
came at  once  conscious  that  this  quaint,  pretty, 
sparkling  drawing-room  was  a  home,  and  that  what 
was  in  it  had  no  connection  whatever  with  shops 
for  antiques  and  art-sale  catalogues.  He  had 
often  noticed  with  dislike  the  spurious  antiquity 
of  many  modern  drawing-rooms,  which  are  really 
museums,  and  represent  the  desire  of  the  new  for 
the  old.  But  Constance  Maitland  had  inherited  the 
furnishings  which  made  her  drawing-room  beauti- 
[92] 


A    RAPTUROUS    HOUR 

ful  and  distinctive,  and  in  process  of  use,  especially 
by  one  family,  chairs  and  tables  and  tea-kettles  ac- 
quire a  semi-humanity  which  creates  that  subtle  and 
enduring  thing  c"alled  atmosphere.  The  portraits 
on  the  walls  gave  an  inhabited  look  to  the  room — it 
was  never  without  company. 

While  Thorndyke  was  considering  the  curious 
fact  that  all  the  mere  money  in  the  world  could  not 
create  a  drawing-room  like  Constance  Maitland's, 
she  herself  entered  the  room  with  her  slow,  graceful 
step.  She  wore  a  gown  of  a  delicate  gray  colour, 
which  trailed  upon  the  floor,  and  at  her  breast  was 
a  knot  of  pale  yellow  cowslips.  A  bowl  of  the  same 
old-fashioned  flowers  was  on  the  tea-table. 

Thorndyke  had  never  been  able  to  contemplate 
without  agitation  a  meeting  with  Constance  Mait- 
land.  But,  as  on  the  two  previous  occasions,  so  soon 
as  he  came  face  to  face  with  her,  nothing  seemed 
easier,  sweeter,  more  natural  than  that  they  should 
meet.  He  placed  a  chair  for  her,  and  they  ex- 
changed smilingly  the  commonplaces  of  meeting 
and  greeting.  At  once  Thorndyke  felt  that  deli- 
cious sense  of  comfort,  security,  and  well-being 
which  some  women  can  impart  so  exquisitely  in 
[93] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
their  own  homes.  The  quiet,  fire-lighted  room 
seemed  a  paradise  of  peace  and  rest,  which  was  ac- 
centuated by  the  northeast  storm  without.  The 
surety  that  he  would  have  the  room,  the  fire,  the 
sweet  company  of  Constance  Maitland  to  himself 
made  Thorndyke  feel  almost  as  if  he  had  a  place 
there.  And  Constance,  by  not  taking  too  much  no- 
tice of  him,  increased  the  dear  illusion.  She  got  into 
a  spirited  discussion  with  the  negro  butler,  who  re- 
joiced in  the  good  old-time  name  of  Scipio,  to 
which  Constance  had  added  Africanus.  Scipio  had 
his  notions  of  how  tea  should  be  made,  which  were 
at  variance  with  his  mistress's.  After  the  manner 
of  his  race,  he  proceeded  to  argue  the  point.  Con- 
stance entered  with  spirit  into  the  controversy,  and 
only  settled  it  by  informing  Scipio  that  where  tea 
was  concerned  he  was,  and  always  would  be,  an 
idiot,  at  which  Scipio  grinned  in  a  superior  man- 
ner. Thorndyke  thought  Scipio  in  the  right,  and 
said  so,  as  he  drank  a  very  good  cup  of  tea  brewed 
by  Constance. 

"But  I  can  never  let  Scipio  believe  for  a  moment 
that  I  am  in  the  wrong  about  anything,"  replied 
Constance,  with  pensive  determination.    "You  dear, 
[94] 


A    RAPTUROUS    HOUR 

good  Northern  people  never  can  be  made  to  under- 
stand that  with  a  negro  everything  depends  on 
the  personal  equation.  He  is  not,  and  never  can  be 
made,  a  human  machine.  He  is  a  personality,  and 
his  usefulness  depends  entirely  on  the  recognition 
of  that  personality." 

"The  commonly  accepted  idea  of  a  servant  is  a 
human  machine,"  said  Thorndyke,  willing  to  cham- 
pion Scipio's  cause  for  the  purpose  of  having  Con- 
stance Maitland's  soft  eyes  glow  and  sweet  voice 
quicken  in  discussion.  In  the  old  days  at  Como 
they  had  many  hot  wrangles  over  the  North  and  the 
South. 

"Ah,  if  you  had  been  served  by  human  machines 
for  eighteen  years,  as  I  was,  you  would  understand 
how  I  longed  to  see  an  honest,  laughing  black  face 
once  more.  My  negro  servants  do  much  tow- 
ard making  this  house  a  home  for  me.  You  would 
laugh  at  the  way  we  get  on  together.  When  I  am 
in  an  ill  humour  they  must  bear  the  brunt  of  it. 
I  am  a  terrible  scold  when  I  am  cross.  But  when  the 
servants  are  lazy  and  neglectful,  then  I  bear  with 
them  like  an  angel,  and  so  we  hit  it  off  comfortably 
together.  Even  Scipio  Africanus,  who  is  altogeth- 
[95] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
er  idle  and  irresponsible,  becomes  a  hero  when  I  am 
ill  and  a  gentleman  when  I  am  angry." 

"Another  cup  of  tea,  please." 

"Already?  You  will  become  a  tea-drinker  like 
Doctor  Johnson.  However,  my  tea  is  so  good  that 
you  are  excused." 

The  conversation  went  on  fitfully,  but  to  Thorn- 
dyke  delightfully.  Like  all  women  who  truly 
know  the  world,  Constance  had  a  charming  and 
real  simplicity  about  her.  She  made  no  effort 
to  entertain  him.  She  talked  to  him  and  he  re- 
plied or  was  silent  according  to  his  mood. 
Every  moment  increased  Thorndyke's  sense  of  ex- 
quisite comfort  and  quiet  enjoyment.  He  had 
reached  the  inevitable  stage  of  life  when  amuse- 
ments are  no  longer  warranted  to  amuse ;  when  only 
a  few  things  remained,  such  as  certain  books  and 
certain  conversations,  which  were  a  surety  of  pleas- 
ure. Nor  had  it  been  much  in  his  way  to  enjoy 
those  simple  pleasures  which  are  found  only  in 
quiet  and  seclusion.  It  was  as  much  a  feeling  of 
gratitude  as  of  enjoyment  which  made  him  say  to 
Constance : 

"I  did  not  think  there  remained  for  me  such  an 
[96] 


A    RAPTUROUS    HOUR 

hour  of  rest  and  refreshment  as  you  have  given 
me." 

Constance  turned  toward  him,  her  eyes  pensive 
but  not  sad.  There  was  something  soothing  in  her 
very  presence.  She  had  known  and  suffered  much, 
and  had  led  a  life  far  from  quiet,  and  now,  in  her 
maturity,  she  had  reached,  it  seemed  to  her,  a  haven 
of  peace  and  quiet.  She  had  acquired  a  knowledge 
worth  almost  as  much  as  youth  itself — the  knowl- 
edge that  never  again  could  she  suffer  as  she  had 
once  suffered.  And  the  meeting  with  Thorndyke 
had  confirmed  her  in  a  belief  which  had  been  her 
chief  solace  under  the  sorrows  of  her  life  of  exile 
and  disappointment.  She  knew  he  loved  her  well. 
For  some  years  of  her  youth  she  had  been  haunted 
by  the  thought,  cruel  to  her  pride,  that  Thorndyke, 
after  all,  had  been  only  playing  at  love.  But  as 
time  went  on,  and  she  knew  herself  and  others  bet- 
ter, she  had  become  convinced  that  Thorndyke  had 
truly  loved  her,  and  his  leaving  her  was  only  what 
any  other  man  of  honour,  burdened  with  poverty, 
would  have  done.  And  he  had  remembered  and  suf- 
fered, too.  As  this  thought  came  into  her  mind 
Thorndyke.  made  some  little  remark  that  referred 
[97] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
vaguely  to  their  past,  something  about  a  song  from 
one  of  the  Italian  operas,  those  simple  love-stories 
told  in  lyrics  which  she  had  often  sung  in  the  old 
days.  A  blush  swept  over  Constance's  cheek,  and 
after  a  little  pause  of  silence  and  hesitation  she 
went  to  the  piano  and  sang  the  quaint  old  song. 
She  had  a  pleasing,  although  not  a  brilliant,  voice, 
and  her  singing  was  full  of  sweetness  and  feeling, 
the  only  kind  of  singing  which  the  normal  man 
really  understands. 

When  she  returned  to  her  chair  Thorndyke 
leaned  toward  her  with  eyes  which  told  her  he  loved 
her,  although  he  did  not  utter  a  word.  Constance, 
in  turn,  resting  her  rounded  chin  on  her  hand, 
leaned  toward  him  with  a  heavenly  smile  upon  her 
face — the  smile  a  woman  only  bestows  on  the  man 
she  loves.  Even  if  he  could  never  speak  his  love  she 
was  conscious  of  it,  and  that  was  enough  for  her 
woman's  heart.  Under  the  spell  of  her  eyes  and 
smile  Thorndyke  felt  himself  losing  his  head — how 
could  he  refrain  from  touching  the  soft  white  hand 
which  hung  so  temptingly  near  him ! 

"Mr.  Crane,"  announced  Scipio  Africanus,  and 
Julian  Crane  walked  in. 

[98] 


A    RAPTUROUS    HOUR 

Every  man  receives  a  shock  when  he  finds  he  has 
interrupted  a  tete-a-tete,  and  Crane's  shock  was 
augmented  by  finding  that  Thorndyke  was  the  vic- 
tim in  the  present  case.  Thorndyke  had  not  said  a 
word  about  going  to  see  Miss  Maitland,  and  Crane 
had  meant  to  do  a  magnanimous  thing  by  taking 
him  there !  And  while  outside  the  door  he  had  heard 
Constance  singing  to  the  piano.  She  had  never 
mentioned  to  him  that  she  had  such  an  accomplish- 
ment. 

Thorndyke  behaved  as  men  usually  do  under  the 
circumstances.  He  spoke  to  Crane  curtly,  assumed 
an  injured  air,  and  took  his  leave  promptly,  as 
much  as  to  say : 

"It  is  impossible  for  me  to  stand  this  man  a  mo- 
ment." 

Constance,  womanlike,  showed  perfect  compos- 
ure and  politeness,  bade  Thorndyke  good-bye  with 
a  smile,  and  then,  by  an  effort,  brought  herself  to 
the  contemplation  of  Julian  Crane.  She  saw  then 
that  he  was  very  pale,  and  the  hand  which  he  rested 
on  the  back  of  a  chair  was  trembling.  The  first 
idea  which  occurred  to  her  was  that  Crane  had  heard 
bad  news;  but  she  could  not  understand  why  he 
[99] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
should  come  to  her  under  the  circumstances.     Per- 
haps it  was  only  nervousness,  the  relaxation  after 
great  tension.     With  this  in  mind,  she  said  pleas- 
antly, as  they  seated  themselves : 

"So  you  waked  this  morning  and  found  yourself 
famous." 

"My  speech  appears  to  have  been  well  received 
by  the  country,"  replied  Crane,  in  a  strained 
voice,  after  a  pause. 

"It  is  a  pity  Mrs.  Crane  was  not  present  to  enjoy 
your  triumph,"  she  said. 

"Mrs.  Crane  does  not  care  for  politics,"  replied 
Crane,  still  in  a  strange  voice. 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  am  especially  interested  in 
politics,"  replied  Constance,  "but  I  am  interested 
in  contemporary  history  of  all  sorts." 

"And  interested  in  your  friends,  Miss  Maitland, 
when  they  are  in  public  life." 

"Extremely.  I  was  at  the  House  yesterday  to 
hear  you  speak,  and  read  your  speech  over  again 
this  morning  in  the  Congressional  Record." 

"Which,  no  doubt,  you  received  through  Thorn- 
dyke,"  Crane  answered,  pointedly,  after  a  moment. 

Constance  felt  an  inclination,  as  she  often  did, 
[100] 


A    RAPTUROUS    HOUR 

to  get  up  and  leave  the  room  when  Crane  was  talk- 
ing with  her.  He  had  no  reserves  or  restraints,  and 
said  just  what  was  in  his  mind — a  dangerous  and 
alarming  practice.  She  controlled  herself,  how- 
ever, and  looked  closer  at  Crane.  He  was  evidently 
deeply  agitated,  and  Constance  forebore  the  rebuke 
that  she  was  ready  to  speak.  Like  a  true  woman, 
to  feel  sorry  for  a  man  was  to  forgive  him  every- 
thing. Suddenly  Crane  burst  out: 

"Have  you  heard  the  news?  Senator  Brand — 
our  junior  Senator — was  run  over  by  a  train  at 
Baltimore  this  morning,  and  died  within  an  hour." 

There  is  a  way  of  announcing  a  death  which 
shows  that  the  speaker  is  contemplating  the  dead 
man's  shoes  with  particular  interest.  Without 
fully  taking  in  what  it  meant  to  Crane  and  what 
he  wished  to  convey,  Constance  at  once  saw  that  in 
Senator  Brand's  death  lay  some  possible  great 
good  for  Crane.  She  remained  silent  a  minute  or 
two,  her  mind  involuntarily  reconstructing  the  hor- 
ror and  pity  of  the  dead  man's  taking  off. 

Crane  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room, 
his  face  working. 

"I  have  committed  a  great,  a  stupendous  folly," 
[101] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
he  said.  "At  the  very  outset  of  my  real  career  I  may 
have  ruined  it.  I  couldn't  describe  to  you  what  I 
have  suffered  this  day — yet  no  one  has  suspected  it. 
I  felt  the  necessity  for  sympathy,  the  necessity  to 
tell  my  story  to  some  one,  and  I  came  to  you.  I 
know  I  have  no  right  to  do  it — but  it  seems  to  me, 
Constance,  that  ever  since  the  day  I  first  saw  you, 
you  have  had  some  strange  power  of  sustaining  and 
comforting  me." 

As  Crane  spoke  her  name,  Constance  involun- 
tarily rose  and  assumed  an  air  of  offended  dignity. 
But  Crane's  distress  was  so  real,  his  offence  so 
unconscious,  that  her  indignation  could  not  hold 
against  him. 

Without  noticing  her  offended  silence  he  came 
and  sat  down  heavily  in  the  chair  that  Thorndyke 
had  just  vacated. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "in  cases  like  this  of  Sena- 
tor Brand's  death,  the  Governor  appoints  a  senator 
until  the  Legislature  meets  and  can  elect,  which  will 
not  be  until  the  first  of  next  January.  Just  as  I 
had  heard  the  news  about  poor  Brand  at  my  hotel 
I  ran  into  Sanders,  our  Governor.  I  didn't  know 
he  was  in  Washington.  Sanders  is  a  brute — al- 
[102] 


A    RAPTUROUS    HOUR 

ways  thinking  of  himself  first.  He  button-holed  me, 
took  me  into  his  bedroom,  locked  the  door,  and 
closed  the  transom.  There  were  three  other  men 
present — all  of  whom  I  would  not  wish  to  offend. 
One  of  them  has  indorsed  two  unpaid  notes  for  me. 
Sanders  told  me  he  had  been  looking  for  me,  and 
with  these  other  fellows — practical  politicians 
every  one  of  them — had  already  formulated  a  plan 
of  campaign.  The  Governor  would  appoint  me  to 
fill  the  vacancy  until  the  Legislature  met  in  Jan- 
uary and  elected  a  senator  for  the  short  term,  pro- 
vided I  would  give  him  a  clear  track  then.  In  fur- 
ther recompense,  he  agreed  to  support  me  for  the 
long  term — the  election  is  only  two  years  off.  San- 
ders has  had  the  senatorial  bee  in  his  bonnet  for  a 
long  time,  but  the  State  organisation  is  not  over- 
kindly  to  him,  and  Senator  Bicknell  is  a  little  bit 
afraid  of  him,  and  naturally  wouldn't  encourage 
his  aspirations.  And  do  you  know,  after  an  hour's 
talk  I  allowed  Sanders  and  those  three  fellows  to 
wheedle  me  into  that  arrangement — and,  of  course, 
I  can't,  in  two  years,  supplant  Senator  Bicknell. 
Sanders  is  a  long-headed  rascal,  and  he  knew  very 
well  that  I  was  under  money  obligations  to  those 
[103] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
men,  and  among  them,  aided  and  abetted  by  my 
own   folly,    I    was   buncoed — yes,   regularly  bun- 
coed." 

The  rage  and  shame  that  possessed  him  seemed 
to  overpower  Crane  for  a  moment,  and  he  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands.  Then  he  dashed  them  down 
and  continued: 

"Of  course  I  could  have  made  a  good  showing  in 
the  race  in  January,  and  after  my  success  of  yes- 
terday I  believe  I  could  have  won.  Senator  Bick- 
nell  is  not  by  any  means  the  czar  in  the  State  which 
he  would  wish  people  to  believe.  But  because  San- 
ders dangled  before  my  eyes  the  bauble  of  the  ap- 
pointment to  the  Senate — a  present  mess  of  pot- 
tage— and  because  I  owed  money  I  could  not  pay, 
I  gave  up  the  finest  prospect  of  success  any  man  of 
my  age  has  had  for  forty  years !" 

Crane  struck  the  arm  of  his  chair  with  his 
clinched  fist.  His  furious  and  sombre  eyes  showed 
the  agony  of  his  disappointment. 

"As  soon  as  it  was  done  I  knew  my  folly,  and 

since  then  I  have  been  almost  like  a  madman.     I 

went  to  my  room  to  recover  myself  before  going 

to  the  Capitol,  and  managed  not  to  betray  myself 

[104] 


A    RAPTUROUS    HOUR 

while  I  was  there.     But  I  couldn't  stand  the  strain 
until  adjournment ;  I  had  to  come  to  you.'* 

Constance  sat  looking  at  him;  pity,  annoyance, 
and  a  kind  of  disgust  struggled  within  her.  This, 
then,  was  politics.  Accomplished  woman  of  the 
world  that  she  was,  this  natural  and  untutored  man 
thoroughly  disconcerted  her.  If  only  she  had  not 
felt  such  pity  for  him !  And  while  she  was  contem- 
plating the  spectacle  of  these  elemental  passions  of 
hatred,  disappointment,  revenge,  and  self-seeking, 
Crane's  eyes,  fixed  on  her,  lost  some  of  their  fury, 
and  became  more  melancholy  than  angry,  and  he 
continued,  as  if  thinking  aloud : 

"Suddenly  I  felt  the  desire  to  see  you.  You 
would  know  how  insane  was  my  folly,  but  you  would 
not  despise  me  for  it.  That's  the  greatest  power  in 
the  world  a  woman  has  over  a  man :  when  he  can  show 
her  all  his  heart,  and  she  will  pity  him  without  scorn 
or  contempt.  Ah,  if  Fate  had  given  me  a  wife  like 
you,  I  could  have  reached  the  heights  of  greatness !" 

At  those  words  Constance  Maitland  moved  a  lit- 
tle closer  to  him  so  that  she  could  bring  him  under 
the  full  effect  of  her  large,  clear  gaze. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  in  a  cool,  soft  voice,  with  a  re- 
[105] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
buke  in  it,  but  without  contempt,  "that  you  are  for- 
getting yourself  strangely.  I  have  often  noticed 
in  you  a  want  of  reticence.  You  should  begin 
now  to  cultivate  reticence.  What  you  have  just 
said  has  in  it  something  insulting  to  me  as  well  as 
to  your  wife — a  person  you  seem  to  have  forgot- 
ten. As  for  the  political  arrangement  which  you 
regret  so  much,  I  can  only  say  that  it  seems  to  me  to 
have  been  cold-blooded  and  unfeeling  on  both  sides 
to  a  remarkable  degree.  You  have  spoken  plainly ; 
I  speak  plainly." 

Constance  leaned  back  quietly  in  her  chair  to 
watch  the  effect  of  what  she  had  said.  She  felt  then 
a  hundred  years  older  than  Crane,  who  was  older 
than  she,  and  who  knew  both  law  and  politics  well, 
but  was  a  child  in  the  science  of  knowing  the  world 
and  the  people  in  it — a  science  in  which  Constance 
Maitland  excelled.  But  even  her  rebuke  had  a  fasci- 
nation for  him.  No  other  woman  had  ever  rebuked 
him — his  wife  least  of  all. 

"Do  you  complain  of  me,"  he  said,  "for  telling 

you  my  weaknesses,  my  misfortunes?     Don't  you 

see  that  what  you  have  just  told  me  is  proof  of  all  I 

have  said  ?    You  see  my  faults,  you  tell  me  of  them, 

[106] 


A    RAPTUROUS    HOUR 

you  inspire  me  with  a  desire  to  correct  them.  No 
other  woman  ever  did  so  much  for  me.  Is  it  forbid- 
den to  any  one  to  utter  a  regret  ?" 

"Very  often  it  is  forbidden,"  replied  Constance, 
promptly.  "Unavailing  regrets  are  among  the 
most  undignified  things  on  earth.  Is  it  possible 
that  you  have  lived  past  your  fortieth  birthday 
without  getting  rid  of  that  school-boy  idea  that  our 
environment  makes  us — that  a  man  is  made  by  his 
wife,  or  by  any  other  human  agent  except  himself? 
So  long  as  self-love  is  the  master  passion,  so  long 
will  we  heed  our  own  persuasions  more  than  any 
one  else's." 

"I  hardly  think  you  understand  how  things  are 
with  me,"  replied  Crane,  his  eyes  again  growing 
sombre.  "Yesterday  was  an  epoch-making  day 
with  me.  To-day,  the  first  of  the  new  epoch,  I 
make  a  hideous  mistake.  It  unmans  me ;  it  un- 
nerves me.  Not  often  do  two  such  catastrophes  be- 
fall a  man  together.  I  follow  an  impulse  and  come 
to  you  and  you  are  angry  with  me.  Bah !  How  nar- 
row and  conventional  are  women,  after  all !  Never- 
theless," he  kept  on,  rising  to  his  feet  and  suddenly 
throwing  aside  his  dejection,  "no  man  ever  yet  rose 
[107] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

to  greatness  without  making  vast  mistakes  and  re- 
trieving them.  This  moment  the  way  of  retrieving 
my  mistake  has  come  to  me.  I  will  go  to  Sanders — 
no,  I  will  write  and  keep  a  certified  copy  of  the  let- 
ter— saying  that  I  shall  withdraw  from  my  engage- 
ments with  him.  I  will  refuse  to  accept  the  ap- 
pointment as  Senator  and  will  contest  the  election 
with  him  before  the  Legislature.  But — but — if 
only  the  man  who  indorsed  my  notes  hadn't  been  in 
the  combine !" 

As  suddenly  as  he  had  rallied,  Crane  again  sank 
into  dejection. 

"You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  want  money  des- 
perately— desperately,  I  say,"  he  added. 

"N-no,"  replied  Constance,  slowly.  "I  think  I 
know  the  want  of  everything  else  almost  which  is 
necessary  to  happiness — except  only  the  want  of 
money." 

"Then  you  have  escaped  hell  itself,  Miss  Mait- 
land.  This  American  Government,  which  you  think 
so  impeccable,  is  the  most  niggardly  on  the  face  of 
the  globe.  With  untold  wealth,  it  pays  the  men 
who  conduct  its  affairs  a  miserable  pittance — a  bare 
living.  How  can  a  man  give  his  whole  mind  to 
[108] 


A    RAPTUROUS    HOUR 

great  governmental  and  economic  problems  when 
nine  out  of  ten  public  men  owe  more  than  they  can 
pay?  I  owe  more  than  I  can  pay,  and  I  owe,  be- 
sides, a  host  of  obligations  of  all  sorts  which  the 
borrower  of  money,  especially  if  he  is  a  public  man, 
cannot  escape." 

Constance,  at  this,  felt  more  real  pity  and  sym- 
pathy for  Crane  than  she  had  yet  felt.  Women  be- 
ing in  the  main  intensely  practical,  and  in  their 
own  singular  way  more  material  than  men,  the 
want  of  money  always  appeals  to  them.  And  Con- 
stance had  an  income  much  greater  than  her  wants 
— that  is,  unless  she  happened  to  want  an  American 
husband.  Every  other  luxury  was  within  her  reach. 
This  idea  occurred  to  her  grotesquely  enough  at 
the  moment.  She  said,  after  a  moment's  pause : 

"It  seems  to  me  that  to  make  your  disentangle- 
ment complete,  you  should,  if  possible,  pay  your 
debt  to  the  man  that  you  say  helped  to  wheedle  you 
into  the  arrangement.  You  might  easily  borrow  the 
money;  it  is  probably  not  a  large  sum.  If — if — 
perhaps  Mr.  Thorndyke — might  arrange " 

Crane  instantly  divined  the  generous  thought  in 
Constance  Maitland's  heart. 
[109] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

"No,"  he  said.  "I  know  what  you  would  do — 
through  Thorndyke.  But  it  is  not  to  be  thought 
of.  With  all  my  shortcomings,  I  can't  think  of 
borrowing  money  from  a  woman.  But  your  sug- 
gestion is  admirable — the  payment  of  the  money  is 
necessary.  It  is  not  much." 

Crane  named  something  under  a  thousand  dol- 
lars— and  then  fell  silent. 

"Mr.  Crane,"  said  Constance,  after  a  while, 
"what  advice  do  you  think  your  wife  would  give 
you  as  to  that  money?" 

Crane  smiled  a  little. 

"Annette  is  a  regular  Spartan  when  it  comes  to 
practical  matters.  She  would  advise  me  to  give  up 
my  rooms  at  the  expensive  hotel  and  go  into  the 
country  near  by  for  the  balance  of  the  session." 

"Could  any  advice  be  more  judicious?"  asked 
Constance.  "And  is  it  any  disadvantage  to  a  pub- 
lic man,  who  is  known  to  be  a  poor  man,  to  live 
plainly?" 

"By  Heaven !"  exclaimed  Crane.  "You  are  right ! 
It  would  show  those  fellows  in  the  Legislature  next 
January  that  I  have  clean  hands.  What  an  ad- 
mirable suggestion!  And  I  can  save  at  least 
[110] 


A    RAPTUROUS    HOUR 

enough  to  pay  half  what  I  owe  on  that  note  before 
the  end  of  the  session !" 

"You  forget,"  said  Constance,  gently,  "that  the 
suggestion  really  is  your  wife's.  Perhaps,  if  you 
had  listened  to  her  oftener,  you  would  have  found 
life  easier.  You  are,  perhaps,  like  many  another 
man — he  marries  a  pretty  little  thing,  and  she  re- 
mains to  him  a  pretty  little  thing.  Meanwhile,  she 
may  have  developed  a  capacity  for  affairs  far  su- 
perior to  his." 

Crane  did  not  like  the  hint  that  perhaps  An- 
nette's head  for  affairs  was  better  than  his,  but  he 
had  heard  several  home-truths  that  afternoon. 

He  rose  to  go,  and  his  changed  aspect  confirmed 
his  words  when  he  said  earnestly  to  Constance : 

"I  came  in  here  with  shame  and  despair  in  my 
heart.  I  go  away  enlightened  and  encouraged  and 
comforted  beyond  words.  You  will  at  least  let  me 
say  that  it  is  to  you  I  owe  it." 

"Good-bye,"  replied  Constance,  cheerfully. 

The  feeling  that  another  woman's  husband  or 
lover  can  be  enlightened,  encouraged,  and  comfort- 
ed by  her  is  a  very  awkward  circumstance  to  a 
woman  of  sense. 

[Ill] 


Chapter  Six 

DEVILS  AND  ANGELS  FIGHT  FOR  THE  SOULS  OF 
MEN 

Crane  went  back  to  his  rooms,  wrote  his  letter  to 
Governor  Sanders,  and  awaited  developments. 

Nothing  happened  for  more  than  a  week  con- 
cerning the  senatorship.  Meanwhile,  he  gave  up 
his  expensive  rooms,  and  with  the  assistance  of  a 
note-broker  managed  to  borrow  enough  money  from 
Peter  to  pay  Paul  and  to  relieve  himself  from  pres- 
ent obligations  to  one  of  the  gentlemen  who  had  so 
urgently  invited  him  to  commit  political  hari-kari. 
He  secured  quiet  quarters  in  one  of  the  suburbs  of 
Washington  and  found  that  he  was  quite  as  com- 
fortable as  he  had  been  at  his  high-priced  ho- 
tel, at  about  one-fourth  the  cost. 

The  May  days  that  followed  were  cool  and 
bright  and  soft,  as  May  days  in  Washington  often 
are.  The  called  session  of  Congress  and  the  neces- 
sary presence  of  so  many  officials  and  diplomats 
[112] 


DEVILS    AND    ANGELS    FIGHT 
made  the  gay  town  gayer  than  usual.     The  whole 
country  was  in  a  mood  of  exhilaration  and  self- 
gratulation,  which  was  vividly  reflected  at  Wash- 
ington. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  Crane's  success  was 
real  and  substantial,  and  that  he  was  already  a  per- 
son to  be  reckoned  with. 

Crane  hugged  himself  with  satisfaction  when  he 
reflected  on  his  escape  from  being  interned  in  the 
Senate,  forced  to  remain  quiescent  during  the  time 
that  he  should  have  been  most  active,  and  finally  en- 
ter the  senatorial  contest,  two  years  ahead,  with  a 
reputation  which  would  probably  have  dwindled  as 
rapidly  as  it  had  developed.  Instead  of  that  he  was 
in  the  centre  of  movement  and  interest,  and  even 
if  he  could  not  make  a  serious  effort  before  the  Leg- 
islature in  January,  he  was  in  a  good  strategic  po- 
sition for  the  senatorial  election  two  years  in  ad- 
vance— and  a  great  deal  may  happen  in  two  years. 

The  Secretary  of  State,  however,  was  disap- 
pointed in  Crane.  He  proved  to  be  quite  as  intract- 
able as  Thorndyke  had  been,  and  with  less  excuse — 
for  Thorndyke  had  never  been  asked  to  little  din- 
ners at  the  Secretary's  house.  The  Secretary's  wid- 
[113] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
owed  daughter,  Mrs.  Hill-Smith,  the  beautiful, 
well-gowned,  soft-voiced  granddaughter  of  Cap'n 
Josh  Slater,  of  Ohio  River  fame,  murmured  once 
or  twice  when  Crane  was  under  discussion  that  he 
was  "so  very  Western,"  and  assumed  a  rather  apol- 
ogetic tone  for  having  been  seen  at  the  play  with 
him.  The  Secretary  himself,  despairing  of  making 
the  chairman  of  the  House  Committee  on  Foreign 
Affairs  a  handy  tool  for  the  State  Department, 
returned  to  his  legitimate  business.  This  business 
consisted  of  labouring  and  slaving,  in  conjunction 
with  foreign  chancelleries,  to  make  elaborate 
treaties,  which  the  House  and  Senate  treated  as  col- 
lege football  teams  treat  the  pigskin  on  hard-fought 
fields.  The  Secretary  felt  peculiarly  aggrieved  over 
the  Brazilian  affair,  in  which  the  State  Depart- 
ment made  a  ridiculously  small  figure,  in  spite  of  in- 
numerable letters,  memoranda,  protocols,  treaties, 
and  what  not.  When  the  time  came  for  action 
the  Congress  had  quietly  taken  the  whole  matter  in 
charge,  and  had  not  even  censured  the  Secretary  if 
it  could  not  praise  him.  Could  he  have  been  at- 
tacked and  denounced,  as  Mr.  Balfour  and  M. 
Combes  and  Chancellor  von  Buelow,  and  the  Prime 
[114] 


DEVILS  AND  ANGELS  FIGHT 
Ministers  of  Europe  were,  it  would  have  been  a 
consolation.  But  even  this  was  cruelly  denied  him. 
He  had  gone  through  all  the  strenuous  forms  of  di- 
plomacy which  meant  something  a  hundred  years 
ago,  when  there  was  neither  cable  nor  telegraph, 
and  when  diplomats  were  not  merely  clerks  and  au- 
ditors of  their  respective  foreign  offices.  The  Sec- 
retary had  practised  all  the  diplomatic  expedients 
he  knew.  When  he  had  not  made  up  his  mind  what 
to  say  to  an  ambassador,  he  had  gone  to  bed  with 
lumbago.  When  he  wished  to  impress  one  of  the 
great  Powers  of  Europe  with  the  notion  that  it  had 
in  him  a  Bismarck  to  deal  with,  he  had  lighted  a 
cigar  in  the  presence  of  five  full-fledged  ambassa- 
dors. Remembering  how  eagerly  the  world  always 
waited  for  the  speech  of  the  Prime  Minister  of  Eng- 
land at  the  annual  Lord  Mayor's  banquet,  the  Sec- 
retary had  spent  a  whole  month  composing  and  re- 
vising his  remarks  at  a  great  banquet  in  New  York 
on  Decoration  Day,  and  the  reporters  had  got  his 
speech  all  wrong,  and  a  disrespectful  New  York 
newspaper  had  made  game  of  his  trousers,  had 
compared  them  to  Uncle  Josh  Whitcomb's  in  "The 
Old  Homestead,"  and  had  asked  pertinently — or 
[115] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
impertinently — where  the  Secretary  had  hired 
them.  In  Congress  he  fared  little  better.  The  Sen- 
ate had  taken  some  small  notice  of  him.  In  the 
House  he  had  been  practically  ignored,  except  once 
when  a  member  alluded  to  having  "an  interview 
with  the  Secretary  of  State."  A  member  of  his  own 
party,  the  same  Honourable  Mark  Antony  Hud- 
gins,  of  Texas,  who  had  guyed  Crane,  had  sternly 
rebuked  his  colleague  for  his  phraseology,  and  de- 
clared that  what  he  should  have  said  was  "an  au- 
dience with  the  Prime  Minister" — and  the  House 
laughed  at  the  unseemly  joke.  The  Secretary  had 
in  secret  a  low  opinion  of  the  collective  wisdom  of 
Congress,  and  in  this  he  was  at  one  with  the  whole 
diplomatic  body  in  Washington. 

Crane,  like  everybody  else,  had  really  forgotten 
the  Secretary  in  the  press  of  affairs.  He  was 
amazed  at  not  receiving  an  answer  to  his  letter  to 
Governor  Sanders,  and  so  told  Thorndyke  one 
night  a  few  days  after  their  meeting  at  Constance 
Maitland's  house.  Crane  had  a  great  esteem  for 
Thorndyke's  sincerity,  which  was  justified,  and 
Thorndyke,  in  his  heart,  was  forced  to  admire 
Crane's  force  and  to  expect  great  things  of  him. 
[116] 


DEVILS  AND  ANGELS  FIGHT 
He  did  not  entertain  any  doubt  of  Crane's  loy- 
alty, but  he  watched  curiously  the  development 
of  the  character  of  a  man  exposed  to  Crane's  pecul- 
iar temptations.  That  Crane  had  both  good  and 
bad  qualities  in  great  vigour  he  saw  easily  enough, 
but  he  could  not  tell  which  were  the  fundamentals. 
Crane  was  desperately  poor,  was  foolishly  proud, 
was  rash  and  vainglorious,  and  was  destined  to 
shine  brilliantly  in  the  world  of  politics.  What  was 
to  become  of  such  a  man  ?  What  usually  became  of 
such  men  ?  It  was  with  these  thoughts  that  Thorn- 
dyke,  at  his  lodgings,  on  a  warm  May  night,  lis- 
tened to  Crane's  account  of  what  had  happened  to 
him  in  the  last  few  days. 

He  assured  Crane  that  his  conduct  regarding 
Governor  Sanders  and  the  senatorship  seemed  emi- 
nently sensible,  after  deducting  the  initial  folly  of 
it.  And  his  making  his  first  serious  attempt  to  save 
money  at  the  very  time  when  it  might  be  expected 
he  would  become  extravagant  inclined  Thorndyke 
to  the  belief  that  Crane  was,  after  all,  fundamen- 
tally honest. 

Crane  at  that  very  moment  suffered  from  a  feel- 
ing of  conscious  guilt.     He  had  begun  to  practise 
[117] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
more  than  the  one  virtue  of  economy.  He  was  prac- 
tising several  others,  but  all  with  a  view  to  his  own 
advantage.  One  of  them  was  that  his  wife  should 
come  on  and  visit  him  during  the  remainder  of  the 
session.  She  had  not  been  in  Washington  for  five 
years — not  since  that  first  unlucky  venture  in  the 
Eleventh  Street  boarding-house. 

He  mentioned  to  Thorndyke  his  intention  to  send 
for  his  wife,  and  had  the  grace  to  say  that  it  was  be- 
cause he  was  lonely  without -her — and  in  saying  so 
he  was  conscious  of  uttering  a  colossal  lie.  But  be- 
ing inexpert  as  a  liar  he  did  badly,  and  felt  ashamed 
of  doing  badly  even  in  lying. 

Thorndyke,  on  whom  Annette  Crane's  simple 
and  natural  charm  had  made  a  strong  impression, 
was  pleased  at  the  thought  that  Crane  would  pay 
her  the  compliment  of  having  her  with  him  and 
pleased  at  the  thought  of  seeing  her  again. 

"I  shall  be  going  West  next  week,"  he  said,  "and 
if  Mrs.  Crane  is  ready  to  come  to  Washing- 
ton I  shall  be  proud  to  escort  her  back." 

"Thank  you,"  answered  Crane,  "it  would  be  a 
kindness  to  me  as  well  as  to  Mrs.  Crane.  She  is  not 
an  experienced  traveller." 

[118] 


DEVILS    AND    ANGELS    FIGHT 

Both  Thorndyke  and  Crane  when  they  were  to- 
gether desired  to  keep  Constance  Maitland  out  of 
their  conversation,  but  by  one  of  those  contradic- 
tory and  involuntary  impulses  which  cannot  be 
accounted  for,  her  name  always  came  up  between 
them.  This  time  it  was  by  Crane's  saying,  after  a 
while : 

"Have  you  seen  Miss  Maitland  lately?" 

"I  dined  there  night  before  last,"  answered 
Thorndyke. 

Crane  knew  that  Constance  Maitland's  favourite 
form  of  entertaining  was  at  little  dinners,  which 
were  perfection  in  the  way  of  guests  and  service. 
He  had  never  been  asked  to  one  of  them,  and 
thought  gloomily  that  after  Constance's  very  plain 
speaking  to  him  at  their  last  interview  his  chance  of 
being  invited  was  thin  to  attenuation. 

"Was  that  the  night  that  fellow  Hudgins  from 
Texas  dined  there?"  asked  Crane,  who  had  not 
taken  Constance's  sound  advice  to  cultivate  reti- 
cence. 

"Yes,  and  I  never  saw  a  better  dinner-man  than 
Hudgins,  nor  was  ever  at  a  more  agreeable  dinner." 

"Bosh!    Hudgins?" 

[119] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
"Yes,  Hudgins.  The  fellow  has  a  quiet  manner, 
a  soft  voice,  and  the  most  delightful  and  archaic 
reverence  for  'the  ladies,'  as  he  calls  them.  It  is 
like  what  history  tells  us  of  General  Sam  Houston. 
Hudgins  was  a  screaming  success  at  the  dinner." 

Seeing  that  the  account  of  Hudgins's  triumph 
gave  Crane  acute  discomfort,  Thorndyke,  lighting 
a  fresh  cigar,  kept  on  remorselessly : 

"Miss  Maitland  wanted  to  ask  some  really  rep- 
resentative man  to  meet  Sir  Mark  le  Poer,  a  very 
agreeable  and  considerable  Englishman,  one  of  the 
permanent  under-secretaries  in  the  British  Foreign 
Office — it  seems  he  is  a  great  friend  of  hers.  He 
had  been  gorgeously  entertained  by  all  the  retired 
trades-people  who  are  in  the  smart  set  here,  but 
complained  that  he  hadn't  met  any  Americans — 
they  would  ask  all  the  diplomats  to  meet  him,  fel- 
lows that  bored  him  to  death  in  Europe  and  still 
more  so  here.  It  seems  that  Miss  Maitland  had 
heard  that  the  long,  thin,  soft-voiced  Texan  was 
delightful  at  dinner — so  she  asked  me  to  bring  him 
to  call,  and  the  dinner  invitation  followed.  Besides 
Sir  Mark  and  Hudgins  and  myself,  there  was  Cath- 
cart — a  navy  man — good  old  New  England  fam- 
[120] 


DEVILS  AND  ANGELS  FIGHT 
ily,  four  generations  in  the  navy,  travelled  man  of 
the  world,  and  flower  of  civilisation.  But  Hudgins 
was  easily  the  star  of  the  occasion.  There  were 
three  other  women  present  besides  Miss  Maitland, 
all  of  them  charming  women,  who  know  the  world 
and  command  it;  and  the  way  they,  as  well  as  the 
Englishman  and  the  naval  officer,  fell  in  love  with 
Hudgins  and  his  soft  Texas  accent,  and  his  stupen- 
dous Texas  yarns,  and  his  way  of  looking  at  things 
— well,  it  was  a  show." 

"Oh,  come,  Thorndyke — Hudgins !" 
"Yes,  Hudgins,  I  tell  you.  When  the  time  came 
for  the  ladies  to  leave  the  table  none  of  them  wanted 
to  go,  and  they  said  so.  Then  Hudgins  rose  and 
said  in  that  inimitable  manner  of  his,  which  catches 
the  women  every  time,  'If  Miss  Maitland  would 
kindly  permit  it,  I'd  rather  a  million  times  go  into 
the  parlour  with  her  and  the  other  ladies  than  stay 
out  here  with  these  fellows.  I  can  get  the  society 
of  men  and  a  cigar  any  day,  but  it  isn't  often  that 
I  can  bask  in  the  presence  of  ladies  like  these  pres- 
ent.' And  the  presumptuous  dog  actually  walked 
off  and  left  us  in  the  lurch — and  you  can  depend 
upon  it,  the  women  liked  him  better  than  any  of 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
"If  women  are  won  by  compliments  like  that,  any 
man  can  win  their  favour,"  said  Crane,  crossly. 

"My  dear  fellow,  women  know  vastly  more  than 
we  do.  It  wasn't  Hudgins's  compliments  in  words 
that  won  the  women — it  was  his  giving  up  his  cigar 
and  the  extra  glass  of  champagne  and  the  society 
of  men  that  fetched  'em — it  was  the  sincerity  of  the 
thing.  When  we  went  into  the  drawing-room  Hud- 
gins  was  sitting  on  the  piano-stool  telling  them  some 
sentimental  story  about  his  mother  down  in  Texas 
when  he  started  out  in  life,  with  nothing  but  the 
clothes  on  his  back  and  a  six-shooter  in  his  pocket. 
The  women  were  nearly  in  tears.  As  for  the  rest  of 
us,  including  Sir  Mark  le  Poer,  we  simply  weren't 
in  it  with  Hudgins.  We  stayed  until  nearly  mid- 
night; then  the  men  adjourned  to  the  club,  where 
Hudgins  kept  us  until  three  o'clock  in  the  morning 
telling  us  more  yarns  about  Texas.  Sir  Mark 
would  hardly  let  him  out  of  sight,  and  Hudgins  has 
engaged  to  spend  August  with  him  in  Scotland  at 
a  splendid  place  he  has  near  Inverness.  That's  the 
way  a  man  with  great  natural  gifts  of  entertaining 
and  being  entertained  can  get  on,  if  he  has  a 
chance." 


DEVILS    AND    ANGELS    FIGHT 

Crane  felt  humiliated  and  disappointed.  In  all 
honesty,  he  could  not  imagine  why  he,  with  his  rec- 
ognised talents,  his  extreme  good  looks,  his  fond- 
ness for  society,  should  have  no  such  social  triumphs 
as  that  long,  lean,  lanky  Texan.  He  had  not 
grasped  the  truth  that  society  is  a  pure  democracy, 
and  until  a  man  has  abandoned  all  pretensions  to 
superiority  he  will  not  be  acceptable  in  it. 

Just  then,  along  the  dusky  street  a  carriage  came 
rolling.  At  Thorndyke's  door  it  stopped,  a  foot- 
man descended  from  the  box  and  assisted  Senator 
Bicknell  to  alight. 

"The  Senator  has  come  hunting  you  up,"  Thorn- 
dyke  remarked  to  Crane.  "When  a  man  is  anxious 
enough  to  see  you  to  come  after  you,  it  is  generally 
possible  to  make  your  own  terms  with  him." 

Crane's  backbone  was  considerably  stiffened  by 
this  remark  of  Thorndyke's,  and  then  Senator  Bick- 
nell walked  in  the  room  and  greeted  Thorndyke  and 
Crane  affably.  He  made  an  elaborate  apology  for 
seeking  Crane,  but  said  frankly  he  wished  to  dis- 
cuss some  matters  of  State  politics  with  him. 

Thorndyke  at  once  rose  to  leave  the  room,  but 
Crane,  asking  Senator  Bicknell  if  he  had  any  ob- 
[123] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
jection  to  Thorn  dyke's  remaining  and  the  Senator 
feebly  agreeing  to  it,  Thorndyke  sat  down  again 
to  enjoy  the  scrap.    As  it  was  not  in  his  own  party, 
he  was  a  perfectly  disinterested  listener. 

"Mr.  Crane,"  began  Senator  Bicknell,  in  a  dulcet 
voice,  "I  hardly  think  you  realise  what  it  means  to 
our  State  organisation  to  introduce  discord  into  it 
at  this  time." 

It  was  less  than  fourteen  months  before  a  na- 
tional convention  and  the  rainbow  of  a  Presidential 
nomination  had  arisen  upon  Senator  Bicknell's  po- 
litical horizon.  This  had  happened  more  than  once, 
but  the  Senator  had  never  been  able,  heretofore,  to 
catch  the  rainbow  by  the  tail — yet,  hope  springs 
eternal  in  the  human  breast. 

To  this  Crane  replied,  firmly: 

"I  desire,  Senator,  to  do  everything  I  can  to 
promote  harmony  in  the  State  organisation.  It  is 
Governor  Sanders  who  is  making  trouble,  and  I 
shall  defend  myself  from  him,  and  die  in  the  last 
ditch,  if  necessary." 

Crane  was  by  nature  a  gladiator,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  a  fight  by  no  means  discomposed  him. 

Senator  Bicknell  sighed.    He  had  already  on  his 
[124] 


DEVILS  AND  ANGELS  FIGHT 
hands  nine  bloody  fights  in  various  parts  of  the 
State,  and  the  prospect  of  a  tenth  fight,  of  a  trian- 
gular nature  at  that,  with  two  such  sluggers  as 
Crane  and  the  Governor  of  the  State,  made  the  Sen- 
ator's head  ache.  He  looked  sadly  at  Thorndyke 
and  yearned  after  a  knowledge  of  the  secret  by 
which  his  friend,  Senator  Standiford,  could  get 
hold  of  a  man  like  Thorndyke,  and  keep  him  forever 
in  a  subordinate  position,  while  he,  Senator  Bick- 
nell,  was  always  engaged  in  a  tussle  with  his  lieu- 
tenants. 

Crane  improved  the  opportunity  to  explain  fully 
his  position;  and  there  could  not  be  the  slightest 
doubt  that  he  had  narrowly  escaped  from  a  con- 
spiracy meant  to  ruin  him. 

Senator  Bicknell  said  little  and  was  evidently  im- 
pressed by  Crane's  statement.  Thorndyke  was 
mentally  comparing  his  own  boss  with  Crane's  boss. 
All  the  pleas  in  the  world  would  not  have  availed 
Crane  had  he  been  dealing  with  Standiford.  He 
would  have  been  required  to  sacrifice  himself  with- 
out a  moment's  hesitation  and  accept  the  disastrous 
honour  of  the  senatorial  appointment  or  be  quietly 
put  out  of  the  way.  Politics  with  Senator  Standi- 
[125] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
ford  was  a  warfare  in  which  quarter  was  neither 
asked  nor  given,  and  no  time  was  permitted  to  suc- 
cour the  wounded  or  bury  the  dead.  Yet  Thorn- 
dyke  doubted  if  Senator  Bicknell,  or  any  man 
then  in  public  life,  had  ever  known  a  tithe  of  the 
tremendous  parental  passion  which  Senator  Standi- 
ford  had  for  his  daughter.  So  strange  a  thing  is 
human  nature. 

A  discussion  followed  Crane's  words  which  made 
a  very  important  fact  clear:  that  Crane  had  sud- 
denly become  a  factor  in  State  politics.  Crane's 
colour  deepened  as  Senator  Bicknell  made  a  last 
effort  with  him  for  peace  with  Sanders,  and  when 
it  was  met  with  a  firm  refusal  to  accept  the  appoint- 
ment, Senator  Bicknell  dropped  some  words  which 
indicated  plainly  that  if  forced  to  choose  sides  he 
might  be  with  Crane.  For  a  man  who  a  month  be- 
fore had  been  obscure  this  was  a  vast  though  silent 
triumph. 

After  an  hour's  talk  Senator  Bicknell  got  up  and 
departed.  It  was  well  on  toward  ten  o'clock,  and 
Crane,  too,  rose  to  go.  Thorndyke  went  out  with 
him  and  they  walked  together  as  far  as  the  foot  of 
the  hill  at  Connecticut  Avenue.  Then  Thorndyke 
[126] 


DEVILS  AND  ANGELS  FIGHT 
turned  back,  to  indulge  in  a  folly  which  had  been 
his  nightly,  since  that  first  afternoon  with  Constance 
Maitland.  It  was,  to  pass  within  sight  of  her  house, 
then  to  return  sick  at  heart  to  his  own  rooms  and 
ask  himself  if  he  could  be  such  a  fool  as  to  wish  her 
to  give  up  that  charming  home  for  lodgings  such 
as  he  could  afford. 

Crane  presently  reached  his  quarters,  a  comfort- 
able suburban  house  with  many  verandas,  and  not 
unlike  his  own  house  at  Circleville.  On  the  table  in 
his  room  lay  a  parcel,  evidently  containing  photo- 
graphs. He  opened  it  and  took  out  a  photograph 
of  his  wife  with  her  two  children,  Roger  and  Eliza- 
beth, by  her  side.  The  children  were  handsome — the 
boy  the  sturdy,  well-made  replica  of  his  father,  the 
little  girl  her  mother  in  miniature;  both  of  them 
children  of  whom  any  father  might  be  proud.  As 
for  Annette,  the  sweetness,  the  soft,  appealing 
character  of  her  beauty,  was  singularly  brought  out 
in  the  photograph.  Nor  was  there  any  suspicion 
of  weakness  in  the  face,  which  most  men  would  have 
fallen  in  love  with  on  the  spot. 

But  Crane  was  dissatisfied.    She  was  not  a  woman 
even  to  be  talked  about.    Crane  would  have  liked  a 
[127] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

woman  whose  name  would  be  in  the  newspapers 
every  day.  True,  Constance  Maitland  kept  out  of 
them  all  she  could,  but  she  was  too  striking  a  per- 
sonality not  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  society 
correspondents.  If  she  had  been  the  wife  of  a  pub- 
lic man,  she  would  have  been  in  print  quite  as  often 
as  he  was. 

Still  Crane  was  glad  he  had  sent  for  his  wife. 
He  had  not  realised  until  this  crisis  in  his  fate  had 
come  upon  him  what  a  mistake  he  had  made  in  not 
having  her  with  him  sometimes.  Not  a  man  of  his 
acquaintance  who  owned  a  wife  but  had  her  occa- 
sionally in  Washington.  He  began  to  think  with 
terror  of  what  his  enemies  might  have  to  say  con- 
cerning this,  and  then,  going  to  his  table,  wrote 
Annette  another  letter  more  urgent  than  his  first, 
in  his  desire  that  she  should  come  to  Washington. 
He  mentioned  the  chance  that  Thorndyke,  who  had 
never  failed  to  show  interest  in  her,  had  offered  to 
escort  her  East.  He  felt  like  a  hero  and  a  martyr 
while  writing  this.  But  after  he  had  posted  his  let- 
ter, and  he  had  gone  back  to  the  balcony  of  his  room 
and  gazed  out  into  the  solemn  night,  he  had  a  return 
of  that  strange  sense  of  guilt.  He  felt  like  a  hypo- 
[128] 


DEVILS  AND  ANGELS  FIGHT 
crite ;  and,  as  he  was  not  a  hypocrite  by  nature,  the 
feeling  was  uncomfortable.  He  put  his  request  to 
Annette  on  the  same  ground  he  had  alleged  to 
Thorndyke — his  wish  to  see  her.  And  he  ought  to 
wish  to  see  her — he  did  wish  to  see  her ;  but  the  still- 
ness of  the  night  and  the  presence  of  the  stars  is 
disconcerting  sometimes  to  one's  conscience.  The 
stars  were  very  bright  and  it  was  wonderfully  clear, 
although  the  moon  was  just  rising.  Tall  apartment 
houses  blazing  with  light  made  centres  of  radiance 
in  the  purple  night.  The  Washington  monolith 
was  like  a  pillar  of  cloud,  and  the  dome  of  the  Capi- 
tol seemed  suspended  in  mid-air.  It  was  all  very 
beautiful,  but  Crane  saw  nothing  of  its  beauty.  He 
saw  only  before  him  a  struggle  with  stupendous 
forces — these  he  feared  not — but  also  a  struggle 
with  himself ;  and  this  he  feared !  He  went  to  bed 
and  slept  uneasily. 


[129] 


Chapter  Seven 

HOW    VARIOUS    PERSONS    SPENT    A    MAY    SUNDAY    IN 
WASHINGTON 

Next  morning  Crane  rose  with  the  intention  of 
going  to  church — a  thing  he  had  not  done  for 
years.  And  in  the  practice  of  this  virtue  he  com- 
mitted an  act  of  the  greatest  hypocrisy.  He  knew 
the  very  hour  when  Hardeman,  the  correspondent 
of  his  home  paper,  took  his  Sunday  morning  stroll 
on  Connecticut  Avenue.  Crane  timed  his  own  ap- 
pearance so  that  he  met  Hardeman  directly  in  front 
of  the  Austrian  Embassy. 

In  half  a  minute  afterward  Crane  mentioned  that 
he  was  on  his  way  to  church. 

As  he  spoke  Hardeman  took  a  newspaper  out  of 
his  pocket,  and  opening  it,  held  it  up  before  Crane. 
On  the  first  page,  with  the  most  violent  display- 
head,  was  the  official  announcement  of  his  appoint- 
ment by  Governor  Sanders  to  the  unexpired  time 
of  the  late  Senator  Brand's  term. 
[130] 


A    MAY    SUNDAY    IN    WASHINGTON 

Crane  turned  pale.  He  was  ready  for  the  fight, 
but  the  fight  had  come  unexpectedly  soon.  And 
that  it  was  to  be  to  the  knife,  and  knife  to  the  hilt, 
was  now  perfectly  plain. 

"Come  with  me,"  said  he  to  Hardeman,  "and  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it." 

They  turned  back  to  Dupont  Circle,  seated  them- 
selves on  a  bench  left  vacant  by  a  coloured  brother, 
and  Crane  told  the  whole  story  to  Hardeman  to  be 
printed  next  day. 

As  he  talked,  his  course  of  action,  simple,  above- 
board,  and  effective,  at  once  took  shape  in  his  mind. 
He  wrote  out  on  a  pocket-pad  a  letter  to  the  Gov- 
ernor, saying  as  the  Governor  had  thought  fit  to 
make  the  public  aware  of  his  action  in  the  senator- 
ship  before  communicating  with  Crane  himself, 
that  he,  Crane,  should  do  likewise  and  make  a  pub- 
lic declination  of  it.  He  then  gave  a  brief  state- 
ment of  what  had  passed,  inserted  a  copy  of  his 
first  letter  to  the  Governor,  and  reiterated  his  refu- 
sal to  accept  the  senatorship.  Hardeman,  a  keen- 
eyed  man,  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight. 
The  letter  would,  of  course,  be  sent  to  the  Associated 
Press,  but  there  was  "a  good  story"  for  the  home 
[131] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
paper,  and  a  specific  mention  that  Representative 
Crane  was  on  his  way  to  church  when  the  news  was 
communicated  to  him. 

Crane,  still  pale,  rose  and  announced  that  he 
should  keep  on  to  church — a  fact  also  certain  to  be 
chronicled.  Church  was  a  very  good  place  to  think 
out  the  problems  which  would  come  out  of  this  ex- 
traordinary and  far-reaching  fight. 

He  went  on,  sat  through  a  long  sermon  of  which 
he  heard  not  a  word,  listened  to  the  musical  gym- 
nastics of  a  high-priced  quartette,  and  gradually 
became  himself,  or,  rather,  more  than  himself,  for 
the  fight  at  hand  brought  out  in  him  all  the  thews 
and  sinews  of  courage,  foresight,  and  judgment. 
At  the  very  last,  when  the  name  of  God  was  men- 
tioned in  the  final  prayer,  Crane  had  one  moment 
of  sincere  piety.  Otherwise  his  thoughts  were  very 
far  from  pious,  being  absolutely  those  of  self-seek- 
ing and  revenge.  Like  other  men,  he  promised  him- 
self that  when  Mammon  had  granted  him  all  he 
wanted,  then  he  would  turn  to  God. 

When  he  found  himself  on  the  street  again  it 
was  a  little  past  twelve  o'clock.     He  turned  into 
the  side  streets  to  escape  the  throng  of  people  going 
[132] 


A  MAY  SUNDAY  IN  WASHINGTON 
home  from  church.  As  he  walked  under  the  arcade 
of  the  sweet-smelling  tulip-trees  with  the  May  sun- 
shine filtering  through,  he  felt  the  ever-present 
longing  for  sympathy.  He  would  have  liked  to 
go  to  Constance  Maitland,  but  something  in  her 
tone  and  manner  at  their  last  meeting  made  him 
afraid. 

On  that  former  occasion  he  had  scarcely  been 
master  of  himself,  he  did  not  know  when  he  was 
offending  her ;  but  now  he  was  far  more  composed. 
Yet  he  dared  not  go. 

While  these  thoughts  were  passing  through  his 
mind  he  looked  up  and  saw  Constance  coming  down 
the  street  under  the  dappled  shadows  of  the  tulip- 
trees.  She  was  dressed  simply  in  black,  but  Crane 
had  never  been  more  struck  by  the  distinction  of  her 
appearance.  With  her  was  a  fine-looking  man 
whom  Crane  surmised  was  Cathcart,  the  naval  man. 
Crane  intended  to  pass  the  pair  without  stopping, 
but  when  he  raised  his  hat  Constance  halted  him. 
There  was  that  ever-present  feeling  of  pity  for 
him,  and  she  was  conscious  of  having  said  some  hard 
things  to  him  in  that  last  interview. 

"I  have  glanced  at  the  newspaper  this  morning," 
[133] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
she  said,  "and  I  fancy  your  friend,  Governor  San- 
ders, has  treated  you  rather  shabbily." 

"Very  shabbily,"  replied  Crane,  smiling ;  "he  has 
driven  me  to  the  wall,  but  he  will  find  me  fighting 
with  my  back  to  the  wall." 

Then  Constance  introduced  her  companion,  and 
it  was  Cathcart,  after  all. 

"You  can't  expect  much  sympathy  from  me,  Mr. 
Crane,"  said  Cathcart,  smiling.  "If  it  had  not 
been  for  you  and  your  colleagues  I  might  have  been 
in  command  of  a  ship  at  this  moment,  making  a  run 
for  the  Caribbean  Sea.  You  did  us  naval  men  a 
bad  turn  by  forcing  those  beggars  to  back  down 
without  striking  a  blow." 

Cathcart,  like  all  naval  men,  was  eager  to  play 
the  great  game  of  war  with  the  new  implements 
lately  acquired,  and  did  not  welcome  the  exercise  of 
peaceful  power  which  had  forced  an  amicable  ar- 
rangement of  a  dangerous  question. 

Just  then  a  handsome  victoria  drew  up  at  the 
sidewalk.  In  it  sat  Mrs.  Hill-Smith,  the  widowed 
daughter  of  the  Secretary  of  State,  and  a  beauti- 
fully dressed,  high-bred-looking  girl,  Eleanor 
Baldwin.  Baldwin,  pere,  whose  cards  read,  "Mr. 
[134] 


A    MAY    SUNDAY    IN    WASHINGTON 

James  Brentwood  Baldwin,"  was  the  successful  in- 
ventor of  a  machine  for  stitching  shoes,  which  had 
brought  him  a  great  fortune  early  in  life,  and  had 
enabled  him  to  establish  himself  in  Washington  and 
adopt  the  role  of  a  gentleman  of  leisure  and  of  in- 
herited fortune.  His  daughter  looked  like  the 
younger  sister  of  Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere,  as  Mrs. 
Hill-Smith,  Cap'n  Josh  Slater's  granddaughter, 
looked  like  Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere  herself. 

Mrs.  Hill-Smith  beckoned  to  Constance,  who  ap- 
proached, leaving  the  two  men  a  little  distance 
away  talking  together  under  the  overhanging 
branches  of  the  tulip-trees. 

"My  dear  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Hill-Smith,  who  had 
adopted  the  "dear  girl"  mode  of  addressing  all 
women  like  herself  over  thirty-five,  "you  must  come 
to  the  meeting  of  the  Guild  for  Superannuated 
Governesses,  which  is  to  be  organised  at  my  house 
to-morrow.  It  is  a  branch  of  the  one  presided  over 
in  London  by  the  Princess  Christian" — and  Mrs. 
Hill-Smith  ran  over  glibly  a  number  of  names  of 
ladies  of  the  diplomatic  corps  in  Washington  who 
were  interested  in  it,  winding  up  with,  "And  we 
can't  get  on  without  you." 

[135] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

Constance  Maitland's  full  gaze  had  in  it  power 
over  women  as  well  as  over  men,  and  Mrs.  Hill- 
Smith  was  not  quite  certain  whether  there  was  a 
laugh  or  not  in  Constance's  deep,  dark  eyes,  as 
turning  them  on  her  she  replied : 

"Very  well — but  my  first  proposition  will  be  rev- 
olutionary, I  warn  you.  I  shall  suggest  that  we 
pay  governesses  enough  to  enable  them  to  save 
something,  and  thus  we  can  get  hold  of  the  eco- 
nomic problem  by  the  head  instead  of  by  the  tail." 

Was  she  really  in  earnest?  Mrs.  Hill-Smith  did 
not  know,  but  there  was  certainly  a  flippancy  in 
Constance's  tone  which  shocked  both  Mrs.  Hill- 
Smith  and  Miss  Baldwin.  The  serious,  hard-work- 
ing women  by  whom  they  were  mothered  and  grand- 
mothered had  given  them  a  deadly  soberness  and 
energy  in  the  pursuit  of  social  schemes  and  pleas- 
ures, just  as  their  forbears  had  industriously  and 
seriously  washed  and  baked  and  brewed. 

Mrs.  Hill-Smith  was  so  annoyed  by  Constance's 
manner  of  receiving  her  communication  that  if 
Constance  had  not  been  very  intimate  at  the  British 
Embassy  Mrs.  Hill-Smith  would  have  made  her  dis- 
pleasure felt.  But  she  was  constitutionally  timid, 
[136] 


A    MAY    SUNDAY    IN    WASHINGTON 
like  all  social  new-comers — timid  in  admitting  peo- 
ple into  her  circle,  and  timid  in  turning  them  out — 
so  she  merely  smiled  brightly  and  said  as  they  drove 
off: 

"You'll  come  like  a  dear,  and  be  as  revolutionary 
as  you  please.  Good-bye." 

Constance,  with  her  two  men,  lingered  a  minute, 
and  then  Crone  left  her.  He  yearned  for  his  ste- 
nographer, and  set  out  to  seek  him.  Cathcart 
walked  home  with  Constance  and  left  her  at  the 
door.  She  was  malicious  enough  to  describe  to  him 
some  of  Mrs.  Hill-Smith's  charities,  at  which  Cath- 
cart was  in  an  ecstasy  of  amusement. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Hill-Smith  went  home  with 
Eleanor  Baldwin  to  what  they  called  breakfast,  but 
most  Americans  call  luncheon.  On  the  way  the  two 
women  had  discussed  Constance  Maitland  cautious- 
ly— each  afraid  to  let  on  to  the  other  what  she  really 
thought — because,  after  all,  Constance  was  inti- 
mate at  the  British  Embassy. 

Arrived    at    the    Baldwin   house — an    imposing 

white  stone  mansion,  with  twenty-five  bedrooms  for 

a  family  of  four,  of  whom  one  was  a  boy  at  school, 

a  family   which  never  had   a  visitor  overnight — 

[137] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
Eleanor  led  the  way  to  the  library,  where  her  father 
sat. 

It  was  a  great,  high-ceiled,  cool  room,  dark,  in 
spite  of  many  windows  and  a  glass  door  opening 
on  a  balcony.  At  a  library  table  near  the  glass  door 
sat  Mr.  James  Brentwood  Baldwin,  alias  Jim  Bald- 
win, and  on  the  balcony  outside,  under  the  awning, 
sat  Mrs.  James  Baldwin,  nee  Hogan. 

It  was  easy  to  see  whence  Eleanor  Baldwin  had 
got  her  beauty.  Jim  Baldwin  was  handsome,  Nora 
Hogan  Baldwin  was  handsomer. 

From  the  days  when  Jim  Baldwin  had  carried 
home  parcels  of  tea  and  buckets  of  butter  in  his 
father-in-law's  corner  grocery,  he  had  cherished  an 
honourable  ambition  to  have  a  great  big  library 
full  of  books.  In  the  course  of  time,  through  the 
operations  of  the  shoe-stitching  machine,  he  had 
been  able  to  gratify  this  ambition  and  taste.  He  had 
all  of  those  books  which  Charles  Lamb  declares  "are 
no  books — that  is,  all  the  books  which  no  gentle- 
man's library  should  be  without."  They  were  all 
bound  sumptuously  in  calf,  and  editions  de  luxe 
were  as  common  as  flies  in  a  baker's  shop.  The  four 
vast  walls  were  lined  with  these  treasures,  and  from 
[138] 


A  MAY  SUNDAY  IN  WASHINGTON 
them  Baldwin  derived  an  excess  of  pleasure.  This 
was  not  by  reading  them — he  had  never  read  a  book 
in  his  life.  Two  Chicago  newspapers,  one  from 
New  York,  and  the  Washington  morning  and  even- 
ing papers  satisfied  his  cravings  for  knowledge. 
But  he  got  from  the  outside  of  his  books  all  the 
pleasure  that  most  people  get  from  the  inside.  He 
justly  felt  that  to  be  seen  surrounded  by  the  glo- 
rious company  of  the  living  who  died  a  thousand 
years  ago,  and  the  conspicuous  dead  who  live  to- 
day, was  to  give  him  dignity  and  poise.  Nobody 
but  himself  knew  that  he  never  read.  His  days  were 
spent  in  his  library — he  always  spoke  of  himself  as 
"among  my  books" — and  shrewd,  sharp,  and  keen 
as  he  was  and  ever  must  remain,  he  had  actually 
succeeded  in  bamboozling  himself  into  the  notion 
that  he  was  a  person  of  "literary  tastes." 

Mrs.  Baldwin  was  one  of  the  handsomest  women 
in  Washington,  and  considered  quite  the  proudest. 
Her  abundant  grey  hair,  setting  off  a  face  of  Gre- 
cian beaut}r,  gave  her  a  look  as  of  a  queen  in  the 
days  of  powder  and  patches.  She  had  a  rarity  of 
speech,  a  way  of  looking  straight  ahead  of  her, 
which  was  regal.  But  this  exterior  of  pride  was 
[139] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
really  a  result  of  the  sincerest  bashfulness  and  re- 
serve. When  Nora  Hogan,  the  grocer's  daughter, 
had  married  Jim  Baldwin,  the  contractor's  son, 
Fortune  was  already  smiling  on  Jim.  Then  sudden- 
ly she  opened  her  apron  and  deluged  him  with  gold. 
Mrs.  Baldwin  was  frightened  and  stunned.  She  was 
afraid  to  say  much  for  fear  she  might  make  mis- 
takes— so  she  gradually  came  to  saying  nothing  at 
all.  She  dreaded  to  look  from  side  to  side  for  fear 
she  might  find  some  one  laughing  at  her.  So  she 
always  looked  straight  ahead  of  her.  By  degrees 
she  acquired  a  degree  of  coldness,  of  stiffness,  that 
was  perfectly  well  suited  to  the  mother  of  Lady 
Clara  Vere  de  Vere.  She  was,  of  course,  an  unhap- 
py woman,  being  a  misjudged  one.  Her  chief 
solace  lay  in  the  practice  of  secret  acts  of  charity 
among  the  poorest  of  the  poor,  not  letting  her  left 
hand  know  what  her  right  hand  did.  The  promot- 
ers of  fashionable  charities  complained  that  Mrs. 
Baldwin  was  so  stately  and  so  unsympathetic  that 
they  could  not  get  on  with  her  in  charitable  work. 
True  it  is,  that  at  the  meetings  for  fashionable  char- 
ities Mrs.  Baldwin  would  be  more  silent,  more 
queenly  than  ever,  but  her  heart  would  be  crying 
[140] 


A  MAY  SUNDAY  IN  WASHINGTON 
aloud  for  the  poor  who  are  born  to  suffer  and  to 
die,  and  to  have  helped  them  she  would  cheerfully 
have  given  the  very  clothes  off  her  back.  But  cow- 
ardice kept  her  silent,  as  it  kept  her  silent  in  the 
presence  of  her  servants,  whom  she  feared  inexpres- 
sibly. 

If  Mrs.  Baldwin  was  constitutionally  timid,  not 
so  Eleanor.  All  the  courage  of  her  father  had 
gone  into  his  willowy,  beautiful,  well-groomed 
daughter.  Her  first  recollections  were  of  the  in- 
land town  where  they  lived  secluded  in  their  big 
house,  because  nobody  was  good  enough  for  them 
to  associate  with  after  their  fortune  was  made. 
Then  she  was  taken  to  Europe  and  returned  a  fin- 
ished product,  with  no  more  notion  of  what  the 
word  "American"  meant  than  if  she  had  been  a 
daughter  of  the  Hapsburgs.  As  a  compromise  be- 
tween Europe  and  America,  Baldwin  had  pitched 
upon  Washington  as  a  place  of  residence.  His  so- 
cial status  had  been  agreeably  fixed  by  a  lucky  acci- 
dent— he  had  been  asked  to  be  pall-bearer  for  a 
foreign  Minister  who  died  in  Washington.  Bald- 
win rightly  considered  the  dead  diplomat  worth,  to 
him,  all  the  live  ones  going;  for,  having  assisted 
[141] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
in  carrying  the  dead  man  from  the  Legation  to  the 
hearse,  Baldwin  was,  in  consequence,  elected  to 
the  swell  club,  asked  to  the  smart  cotillon,  and 
made  more  headway  in  a  month  in  the  smart  set 
than  he  could  have  made  otherwise  in  a  year.  He 
repaid  his  debt  to  the  dead  diplomat  by  buying 
some  very  ordinary  pictures  at  the  sale  of  the  Min- 
ister's effects,  and  paying  the  most  extravagant 
price  ever  heard  of  for  them. 

To  Eleanor  their  social  rise  was  nothing  surpris- 
ing. She  expected  it,  having  been  bred  like  a 
young  princess,  only  with  less  of  democracy  than 
real  princesses  are  bred.  When  she  entered  the 
room  with  Mrs.  Hill-Smith,  Baldwin  rose  and  re- 
sponded smilingly  to  Mrs.  Hill-Smith's  remark : 

"Here  you  are,  as  usual,  among  your  books." 

"Yes — as  usual,  among  my  books.  I  daresay 
your  father,  the  Secretary,  spends  a  good  deal  of 
time  among  his  books." 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Hill-Smith,  airily,  "but 
he  has  been  dreadfully  put  out  of  late.  Congress 
has  been  so  troublesome.  I  don't  know  exactly  how, 
but  it  has  annoyed  papa  extremely." 

"Very   reprehensible,"   said  Baldwin,  earnestly, 


A    MAY    SUNDAY    IN    WASHINGTON 

who  had  the  opinion  of  the  average  commercial 
man  that  Congress  is  a  machine  to  create  prosper- 
ity, or  its  reverse,  and  if  prosperity  is  not  created, 
Congressmen  are  blamed  fools. 

"I  hate  Congressmen — except  a  few  from  New 
York,"  said  Eleanor,  drawing  off  her  gloves  dain- 
tily. "There  was  one  talking  to  Miss  Maitland  when 
we  stopped  her  on  the  street  just  now.  The  creat- 
ure was  introduced  to  me  at  one  of  those  queer 
Southern  houses  where  they  introduce  people  with- 
out asking  permission  first,  and  ever  since  then  the 
man  has  tried  to  talk  to  me  whenever  we  meet.  But 
I  really  couldn't  stand  him.  This  morning  I  cut 
him  dead.  His  name  is  Crane,  and  he's  from  some- 
where in  the  West." 

Now  it  happened  that  there  was  another  Crane 
in  the  House  from  the  West,  and  Baldwin  had  a 
business  motive  for  wishing  to  cultivate  this  partic- 
ular Crane — and  business  was  business  still  with 
Jim  Baldwin.  So,. at  Eleanor's  words,  he  turned  on 
her.  His  air  of  scholar-and-gentleman,  man-of- 
the-world,  and  person-of-inherited-leisure  suddenly 
dropped  from  him ;  he  was  once  more  Jim  Baldwin, 
the  shoe-stitching-machine  man. 
[143] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

"Then  let  me  tell  you,"  he  said,  authoritatively, 
"you  made  a  big  mistake.  That  man  Crane  is  on 
the  Committee  on  Manufactures,  and  we  have  been 
arguing  with  him,  and  sending  the  most  expensive 
men  we  have  to  prove  to  him  that  we  are  entitled  to 
the  same  rebate  on  the  platinum  used  in  our  ma- 
chines as  the  Oshkosh  Shoe-Stitching-Machine  peo- 
ple get — and  I  have  reason  to  know  that  Crane  is 
the  man  standing  in  the  way.  I  wish  you  had  snug- 
gled right  up  to  him." 

Eleanor  surveyed  her  father  with  cold  displeas- 
ure. Mrs.  Hill-Smith  was  politely  oblivious,  espe- 
cially of  the  word  "snuggled."  Coming,  as  she  did, 
of  a  very  old  family  which  dated  back  to  1860,  she 
felt  a  certain  degree  of  commiseration  for  brand- 
new  people  like  the  Baldwins,  who  had  not  appeared 
above  the  social  horizon  until  1880 — twenty  years 
later.  But  she  really  liked  them,  and  with  a  diplo- 
matic instinct  inherited  from  her  father  she  relieved 
the  situation  by  rising  and  saying : 

"I  see  dear  Mrs.  Baldwin  on  the  balcony  and 
must  go  and  speak  to  her." 

And  as  she  flitted  through  the  glass  door  a  deep 
masculine  voice  just  behind  Eleanor  said: 
[144] 


A    MAY    SUNDAY    IN    WASHINGTON 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Baldwin." 

It  was  the  Honourable  Edward  George  Francis 
Castlestuart-Stuart,  third  secretary  of  the  British 
Embassy,  whom  Eleanor  had  asked  to  breakfast  that 
morning.  She  grew  pale  as  she  rose  to  greet  him — 
suppose — suppose  he  had  heard  that  remark  about 
the  shoe-stitching  machine?  And  what  was  more 
likely  ?  The  shoe-stitching  machine  was  the  family 
skeleton,  and  was  usually  kept  under  lock  and  key. 
By  some  occult  and  malign  impulse  her  father  had 
hauled  it  out  and  rattled  it  in  Mrs.  Hill-Smith's 
face,  and  perhaps  it  might  be  known  at  the  British 
Embassy ! 

Baldwin  himself  realised  the  impropriety  of  his 
conduct,  and  tried  to  rectify  it  by  saying,  with  great 
cordiality,  to  the  Honourable  Mr.  Castlestuart- 
Stuart: 

"Good  morning — good  morning.  Very  pleased 
to  see  you.  You  find  me,  as  usual,  among  my  books 
— my  best  and  oldest  friends." 

To  this  Castlestuart-Stuart  replied  simply,  like 
the  honest  Briton  that  he  was : 

"I  hate  books." 

Baldwin  was  nearly  paralysed  at  this,  and  still 
[145] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
more  so  when  the  honest  Briton  quite  eagerly  went 
out  on  the  balcony  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Baldwin.  Only 
the  day  before,  in  one  of  his  rambles  about  town,  he 
had  come  upon  her  getting  out  of  a  cab  before  a 
poor  lodging-house  in  Southeast  Washington,  her 
arms  loaded  with  bundles.  A  swarm  of  poor  chil- 
dren had  run  forward  to  greet  her — they  evidently 
knew  her  well.  Her  usually  cold,  statuesque  face 
had  been  warmed  with  the  sweet  light  of  charity,  and 
a  heavenly  joy  shone  in  her  eyes  in  the  process  of 
feeding  the  hungry,  clothing  the  naked,  and  visit- 
ing the  sick. 

As  Castlestuart-Stuart  went  out  on  the  balcony 
and  took  Mrs.  Baldwin's  hand  cordially,  she 
blushed,  but  not  painfully.  She,  too,  had  seen  him 
yesterday,  and  he  had  managed  to  convey  with  that 
peculiar  art  of  a  simple  and  candid  nature  that  he 
admired  her  for  what  she  was  doing.  Again  did  she 
feel  this  sincere  and  admiring  approval,  and  was 
profoundly  grateful  for  it.  Castlestuart-Stuart 
knew  the  history  of  the  family — all  the  diplomats 
in  Washington  know  the  family  history  of  those  who 
race  and  chase  after  them.  He  remembered  hear- 
ing Constance  Maitland  say  "Mrs.  Baldwin  re- 
[146] 


A    MAY    SUNDAY    IN    WASHINGTON 

deems  the  whole  family."  Goodness  such  as  hers 
could  redeem  much  worse  people  than  the  Baldwins, 
thought  Castlestuart-Stuart,  and  he  proceeded  to  be 
bored  by  Mrs.  Hill-Smith  and  Eleanor  with  the  best 
grace  in  the  world.  His  chief  had  told  him  to  take 
what  was  set  before  him  in  a  social  way,  asking  no 
questions  for  conscience'  sake.  In  the  performance 
of  his  duty  he  had  dined,  breakfasted,  and  lunched 
with  pork,  dry-goods,  whiskey,  shoes,  sewing-ma- 
chines, and  every  other  form  of  good,  honest  trade. 
But  the  word  trade  was  never  so  much  as  mentioned 
among  them — certainly  not  at  the  breakfast  which 
was  now  served. 


[147] 


Chapter  Eight 

A  NEW  SENATOR A  RAILWAY  JOURNEY THE  ROSE 

OF  THE  FIELD  AND  THE  ROSES  OF  THE  GARDEN 

Crane  was  in  nowise  disappointed  at  the  sensation 
his  published  letter  made.  The  justice  of  his  posi- 
tion was  at  once  apparent.  But  it  was  equally  ap- 
parent that  he  was  making  a  serious  break  in  the 
political  dykes  which  held  the  party  together  in  his 
State  against  the  ocean  of  the  party  opposed  to  it. 
Under  Senator  Bicknell's  rule,  insubordination  had 
gradually  crept  in.  The  late  landslide,  which  had 
elected  a  Congress  in  opposition  to  the  party  in 
power,  increased  the  importance  of  States  like 
Crane's,  where  the  balance  of  power  shifted  about 
every  ten  years  between  the  two  parties.  Senator 
Bicknell,  in  the  seclusion  of  his  boudoir — for  such 
was  his  luxurious  den  in  reality — tore  his  hair  and 
used  all  of  the  expletives  permissible  in  polite  so- 
ciety. In  a  week  or  two  Governor  Sanders,  without 
[148] 


A    NEW    SENATOR 

any  further  newspaper  controversy,  appointed  to 
the  vacant  senatorship  Mr.  Michael  Patrick  Mulli- 
gan, a  gentleman  of  Hibernian  descent,  who  had 
made  a  vast  fortune  out  of  manufacturing  pies 
by  the  wholesale,  and  who  cherished  an  honour- 
able ambition  to  legislate  for  the  hated  Saxon. 
Senator  Bicknell,  Crane,  and  everybody  in  the 
State  knew  of  Mr.  Michael  Patrick  Mulligan, 
who  was  commonly  called  Mince  Pie  Mulligan. 
He  was  a  ward  politician  of  the  sort  pecul- 
iarly unhampered  by  prejudices  or  principles, 
and  who  bought  and  sold  votes  by  wholesale,  very 
much  as  he  bought  and  sold  pies.  He  was  totally 
without  education,  but  by  no  means  without  brains, 
and  proposed  to  himself  a  seat  in  the  Senate  as  an 
agreeable  diversion,  without  the  least  idea  of  doing 
anything  beyond  voting  as  directed  by  "the  boss" 
— for  so  he  designated  the  Senator  who  was  chair- 
man of  the  National  Committee  of  Mr.  Mulligan's 
party.  It  was,  on  the  whole,  about  as  harmless  an 
appointment  as  could  be  made.  Mulligan's  private 
life  was  perfectly  clean,  and  he  was  known  to  have 
an  open  hand  for  charity,  and  never  to  have  forgot- 
ten a  friend.  It  gave  both  Senator  Bicknell  and 
[149] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
Crane   a   breathing-spell,    and   they   were   willing 
enough  to  put  up  with  Mince  Pie  Mulligan  until  the 
first  of  January. 

Senator  Bicknell,  although  easy  enough  in  his 
mind  about  Mulligan,  was  far  from  easy  about 
Crane,  who  had  gone  up  like  a  rocket,  but  showed  no 
disposition  to  come  down  like  a  stick.  The  Senator 
got  into  the  way  of  stealing  over  to  the  House,  "just 
to  see  how  things  are  going" — in  reality  to  see  how 
Crane  was  going — and  it  scared  him  to  observe  how 
Crane  was  making  good  his  footing  everywhere. 
His  first  triumph,  even  after  subtracting  Thorn- 
dyke's  assistance,  had  been  a  real  triumph.  Follow- 
ing hard  on  this  came  his  controversy  with  the  Gov- 
ernor, in  which  he  clearly  had  the  best  of  it.  The 
shrewd  men  in  his  party  saw  that  in  the  readjust- 
ment of  allegiances  Crane  must  be  counted,  and  the 
chairman  of  the  National  Committee  said  as  much 
to  Senator  Bicknell  when  the  two  discussed  the  war 
between  the  Governor  and  Representative  Crane. 
When  the  chairman  said  that,  Senator  Bicknell  felt 
as  Henry  IV.  of  England  felt  when  he  saw  the 
Prince  of  Wales  trying  on  the  crown  before  the 
looking-glass. 

[150] 


A    NEW    SENATOR 

Meanwhile,  Thorndyke  was  speeding  West,  as  he 
had  said,  and  after  a  week's  absence  he  turned 
eastward  again,  escorting  Annette  Crane  and  her 
two  children  to  Washington,  as  he  had  suggested 
to  Crane. 

For  the  purpose  of  acquiring  knowledge  of  oth- 
ers and  of  one's  self,  there  is  nothing  like  a  long  rail- 
way journey.  Marriage  itself  is  scarcely  more  of 
an  eye-opener.  The  old  Greeks,  who  reasoned  so 
closely  on  the  nature  of  man,  would  have  been 
vastly  informed  could  they  have  taken  a  few  long 
journeys.  Locke  could  have  known  more  of  the  hu- 
man understanding  had  he  taken  the  Chicago  Lim- 
ited, with  a  party,  from  Chicago  to  Washington. 
In  that  journey  Annette  Crane  found  out  all  about 
Geoffrey  Thorndyke,  and  Geoffrey  Thorndyke 
found  out  all  about  Annette  Crane.  Their  mutual 
discoveries  changed  the  natural  sympathy  which 
had  been  established  between  them  to  a  deep  and 
lasting  friendship. 

Those  five  years  of  seclusion  at  Circleville  had 
been  developing  years  for  Annette  Crane.  In  ap- 
pearance she  had  gained  in  dignity  and  had  not 
lost  in  youthfulness.  She  had  fair  hair  and  a  wild- 
[151] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
rose  complexion,  and  a  pair  of  the  sweetest,  most 
limpid  hazel  eyes  in  the  world.  Everything  about 
her  bore  the  impress  of  a  gentle  sincerity — her 
frank  gaze,  her  pretty  smile,  her  soft  voice,  in 
which  the  Western  burr  was  almost  obliterated. 
Those  five  years  represented  a  cycle  to  her.  In  that 
time  all  of  her  relations  to  life  seemed  to  have 
changed — and  especially  were  her  relations  with 
her  husband  curiously  altered.  In  their  early  mar- 
ried life  Crane's  intensity  of  love  and  excess  of  de- 
votion had  frightened  her  a  little.  But  in  time 
other  passions  had  come  to  take  the  place  of  this  one 
in  his  wife,  and  it  had  been  shouldered  out  of  place. 
He  was  a  fairly  good  husband,  but  after  the  mi- 
crobe has  once  lodged  in  a  man's  brain  that  he  is 
very  superior  to  his  wife,  he  may  still  be  called  a 
good  husband,  but  scarcely  an  agreeable  one. 

At  this  stage  of  the  proceedings — which  was  at 
the  time  she  first  came  to  Washington — Annette 
discovered  that  she  adored  her  husband.  As  he  had 
always  accused  her  of  coldness  and  reserve,  she  de- 
termined to  show  him  all  the  treasures  of  her  love. 
It  was  the  common  mistake  of  youth  and  ignorance ; 
but  Annette,  whose  secret  pride  was  great,  suf- 
[152] 


A    NEW    SENATOR 

fered  a  horrible  mortification  in  finding  that  the 
display  of  her  affection  did  not  bring  forth  the  re- 
sponse on  which  she  had  confidently  relied.  She 
had  made  no  moan,  and  had  deceived  the  whole 
world,  including  Crane  himself,  into  believing  that 
she  was  a  satisfied  wife;  but  her  misery  had  been 
extreme.  Her  pride,  informed  by  common-sense, 
had  helped  her  over  the  crisis.  She  had  herself  pro- 
posed to  spend  the  winters  in  Circleville,  instead  of 
Washington,  thus  forestalling  any  possibility  of 
the  proposal  coming  from  Crane;  and  in  Circle- 
ville she  had  set  herself  the  task  of  making  the  most 
and  best  of  herself,  not  only  for  her  husband,  but 
for  her  children.  She  had  learned  a  good  deal  in 
that  brief  and  unpleasant  experience  in  Washing- 
ton. Among  others  was  a  just  appreciation  of  her- 
self. She  realised  that  she  had  certain  great  advan- 
tages, and  she  no  longer  had  the  self-deprecatory 
tone  of  mind  which  had  made  her  feel  that  Crane 
had  perhaps  condescended  in  marrying  her.  She 
was  as  passionately  attached  to  him  as  ever,  but  her 
eyes  were  opened  and  she  saw. 

She  had  taken  to  reading  as  a  solace,  and  as  a 
duty,  and  not  because  she  was  strongly  attracted  to 
[153] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

books.  The  result,  however,  was  good,  and  she 
found  it  enabled  her  to  meet  men  like  Thorndyke 
on  a  common  ground.  In  training  her  children,  she 
had  performed  the  inevitable  function  of  training 
herself.  Under  her  system,  her  children  had  become 
quieter  and  sweeter  than  American  children  usually 
are.  The  American  women  in  general  can  more 
than  hold  their  own  with  the  women  of  other  coun- 
tries, except  in  two  trifling  particulars — the  arts  of 
housekeeping  and  of  bringing  up  children.  In 
these  two  things  they  generally  fail  egregiously, 
and  the  more  money  they  have  the  more  conspicuous 
is  their  failure.  To  paraphrase  the  Scripture — 
"See  you  the  house  of  the  rich  American  man?  Be- 
hold therein  a  tribe  of  undisciplined  and  impudent 
servants  and  children."  The  newness  of  the  rich  in 
America  may  account  for  the  undisciplined  servants, 
of  whom  their  mistresses  are  in  mortal  terror.  But 
American  women  have  been  bringing  up  children 
ever  since  the  settlement  at  Jamestown  and  the  land- 
ing of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  and  every  year  they 
seem  to  know  less  about  it. 

However,  Annette   Crane's   children  were  more 
quiet,   more  simply   dressed  than  most  American 
[154] 


A    NEW    SENATOR 

children.  They  had  escaped,  to  a  great  degree,  the 
demoralising  influences  of  children's  magazines, 
"The  Children's  Page"  in  newspapers,  and  chil- 
dren's plays,  and  they  had  not  been  amused  to  death. 
Annette,  it  is  true,  had  not  mastered  the  science  of 
managing  servants,  but  in  that  she  was  at  one  with 
the  women  of  other  parts  of  the  country,  except  the 
South — for,  as  Senator  Hoar  once  remarked  on  the 
floor  of  the  Senate,  as  a  preliminary  to  a  ferocious 
attack  on  the  South,  it  is  the  Southerners  alone, 
in  this  country,  who  have  the  habit  of  command. 
Annette  Crane,  however,  although  she  could  no  more 
manage  her  household  staff  of  one  maid-of -all- work 
than  Mrs.  James  Brentwood  Baldwin  or  Mrs.  Hill- 
Smith  could  manage  her  retinue  of  English  flunk- 
eys and  French  maids,  yet,  by  tact  and  judgment, 
succeeded  in  keeping  the  maid-of-all-work  with- 
in bounds — which  is  more  than  the  Brentwood  Bald- 
wins and  the  Hill-Smiths  could  do  with  their  maids 
and  flunkeys. 

On  the  journey  with  Thorndyke,  not  one  word 
had  passed  Annette's  lips  to  indicate  any  rift  be- 
tween her  husband  and  herself.     She  spoke  of  him 
frankly  and  affectionately.     But  the  two  children 
[155] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
showed  none  of  that  happy  eagerness  to  meet  their 
father  which  the  average  American  child  shows  to 
meet  a  dutiful  and  obedient  parent.  This  did  not 
escape  Thorndjke,  and  amazed  him.  He  had  the 
usual  bachelor's  fear  and  dread  of  children,  but 
two  days  and  nights  of  travel  with  little  Roger  and 
Elizabeth  Crane  had  placed  him  upon  terms  of  per- 
fect intimacy  with  them.  Roger  had  climbed  all 
over  him,  and  Thorndyke,  instead  of  resenting  it, 
had  been  secretly  pleased  at  it.  He  had  wrung  per- 
mission from  Annette  to  take  the  boy  into  the  smok- 
ing-car with  him  occasionally,  and  Roger  emerged 
with  many  mannish  airs  for  his  eight  years. 
Thorndyke's  berth  was  at  the  other  end  of  the 
sleeper  from  Annette's  and  her  children,  and  on  the 
second  night,  when  Thorndyke  turned  in,  he  found 
the  youngster  had  eluded  his  mother's  vigilant  eye, 
and  had  crawled  into  Thorndyke's  berth  for  a  talk 
about  Indians.  Thorndyke  not  only  submitted  to 
this,  but  permitted  Roger  to  send  word  to  his  mother 
by  the  porter  that  he  would  sleep  in  Mr.  Thorn- 
dyke's  berth,  because  Mr.  Thorndyke  had  asked 
him — and  the  two  of  them  managed  to  defy  Annette 
in  the  matter.  Little  Elizabeth  took  an  extreme 
[156] 


A    NEW    SENATOR 

fancy  to  Thorndyke,  and  inquired  if  she  might  ask 
Mr.  Thorndyke  to  be  her  uncle  Thorndyke. 

Annette,  being  acute,  as  most  women  are,  in  af- 
fairs of  the  heart,  knew,  the  very  first  time  that 
Thorndyke  casually  mentioned  Constance  Mait- 
land,  that  he  was  in  love  with  her.  When  he  said 
that  he  had  known  her  long  ago,  at  Lake  Como,  and 
proceeded  to  describe  the  beauty  of  those  Italian 
days  and  nights,  Annette  Crane  was  convinced  that 
it  was  in  those  sweet  hours  that  Thorndyke  had  first 
loved  Constance  Maitland.  Women  have  no  con- 
science in  probing  the  love-aff airs  of  men,  reckoning 
them  the  common  property  of  the  sex — and  while 
Thorndyke  was  blithely  unconscious  that  he  had  re- 
vealed anything,  Annette  was  in  full  possession  of 
all  the  essential  facts.  Also,  Thorndyke  let  out  that 
Crane  knew  Constance  Maitland.  Crane  had  never 
mentioned  Constance's  name  to  his  wife.  That  was 
in  itself  enough  to  give  Annette  a  painful  interest 
in  this  woman  who,  as  Thorndyke  said,  could  charm 
the  birds  off  the  bushes. 

When  the  train  came  bumping  into  Washington 
on  a  pleasant  May  afternoon,  Crane  was  waiting  at 
the  station.    He  seemed  delighted  to  meet  his  fam- 
[157] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
ily  again,  and  indeed,  on  seeing  them,  a  kind  of  ten- 
derness came  over  him.  He  kissed  his  children  af- 
fectionately, to  which  they  submitted.  Just  behind 
them  was  a  shabby,  one-armed  man,  whom  a  girl  of 
ten  or  twelve  was  hugging  and  kissing  with  little 
gurgles  of  delight.  Crane  wished  that  his  children 
had  met  him  like  that. 

He  thanked  Thorndyke  warmly  for  taking  care 
of  Annette,  who  said  a  few  words  of  earnest  thanks, 
and  gave  him  a  smile  from  her  dewy  lips  and  eyes 
that  meant  much  more.  The  children  bade  him 
good-bye  with  outspoken  regret,  and  would  not  be 
comforted  until  Thorndyke  promised  to  take  them 
to  the  Zoo  the  next  Sunday  to  see  the  baby  elephant. 

As  the  party  came  out  of  the  station  together,  a 
handsome  little  victoria  whirled  by.  In  it  sat  Con- 
stance Maitland,  her  delicate  mauve  draperies  en- 
veloping her,  a  black  lace  parasol  shading  her  head, 
and  a  filmy  white  veil  over  her  face.  By  her  side 
sat  a  little,  withered  old  lady  in  rusty  black — one 
of  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  weary  old  people  who 
drift  to  Washington  to  die.  It  was  one  of  Con- 
stance Maitland's  pet  charities  to  take  these  weary 
old  people  to  drive,  and  in  so  doing  to  wear  her  love- 
[  158  ] 


A    NEW    SENATOR 

liest   gowns,   her   most  exquisite   hats — a   delicate 
compliment  unfailingly  appreciated. 

She  did  not  see  Thorndyke  and  the  Cranes  as 
they  walked  out  of  the  station — but  both  men  saw 
her.  Annette  Crane  had  abundant  confirmation  of 
her  hypothesis  about  Thorndyke.  His  clear-cut, 
but  rather  plain,  features  became  almost  handsome 
as  he  watched  the  passing  vision  of  the  woman  he 
loved.  Of  far  more  interest  to  Annette  was  Crane's 
countenance.  It  was  full  of  expression,  and  he  was 
totally  untrained  in  controlling  it.  There  was  in  his 
eyes  a  strange  and  complex  look,  which  Annette  in- 
terpreted instantly  to  mean,  "You  are  the  type  of 
woman  I  most  admire  and  to  whom  I  most  aspire." 
It  struck  her  to  the  heart,  but,  unlike  Crane,  she 
had  acquired  an  admirable  composure  which  made 
her  mistress  of  herself.  She  was  glad,  however,  that 
Constance  had  not  seen  her  first,  after  two  days  of 
hard  travel. 

When  the  Cranes  had  reached  the  suburban  villa 
where  Crane  lived,  a  number  of  letters  and  de- 
spatches were  awaiting  him.  Two  or  three  men, 
Hardeman  among  them,  came  out  that  evening  to 
see  him.  From  them  Annette  found  out  the  great 
[159] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
struggle  in  which  her  husband  was  engaged.     He 
had  scarcely  mentioned  it  to  her. 

Not  a  word  of  inquiry  or  reproach  from  her  fol- 
lowed. When  Crane,  however,  alluded  to  the  great 
fight  some  days  afterward,  he  was  a  little  staggered 
to  find  that  Annette  knew  as  much  about  it  as  any- 
body. A  study  of  the  newspaper  files  at  the  Na- 
tional Library  had  enlightened  her. 

Thorndyke  did  not  see  Constance  for  some  days 
after  his  return;  that  is  to  say,  he  did  not  show 
himself  to  her.  But  he  resumed  his  nightly  prowl  in 
her  neighbourhood — a  practice  ridiculous  or  pa- 
thetic according  to  the  view  one  takes  of  an  hon- 
ourable and  sensitive  man,  whose  honour  stands  be- 
tween him  and  the  love  of  his  life.  He  did  not 
dream  that  Constance  knew  of  it,  but  the  fact  was 
she  had  known  of  it  from  the  very  beginning.  It 
was  this  knowledge  which  made  her  somewhat  sad 
dark  eyes  grow  bright,  which  brought  out  a  deli- 
cate flush  upon  her  cheeks,  and  gave  her  step  the 
airy  spring  of  her  first  girlhood.  It  is  the  glorious 
privilege  of  love  to  restore  their  lost  youth  to  those 
who  love.  Constance  knew,  by  an  unerring  in- 
stinct, that  Thorndyke,  like  herself,  treasured 
[160] 


A    NEW    SENATOR 

everything  of  their  past — that  past,  so  ethereal,  so 
innocent,  so  dreamlike,  but  to  them  eternal  as  the 
heavens.  On  the  first  evening  after  Thorndyke's  re- 
turn, when  Constance,  from  her  balcony,  half-hid- 
den in  towering  palms,  caught  sight  of  the  flame  of 
Thorndyke's  cigar  as  he  strolled  by  in  the  murky 
night,  she  slipped  within  the  darkened  drawing- 
room.  The  next  moment  Thorndyke  heard  her 
playing  softly  some  chords  of  the  old,  old  songs — 
nay,  even  singing  a  stanza  or  two.  It  filled  his  heart 
with  a  vehement  hope  that  set  his  pulses  off  like 
wild  horses,  into  an  ecstasy  which  lasted  until  he  got 
home  to  his  old-fashioned  bachelor  quarters.  What ! 
Ask  Constance  Maitland  to  give  up  her  beautiful 
home,  her  carriages,  her  French  gowns  for  that! 
Thorndyke  called  himself  a  blankety-blank  fool, 
with  an  emphasis  that  bordered  on  blasphemy. 
Next  day  he  was  so  dull  that  the  Honourable  Mark 
Antony  Hudgins  charged  him  with  having  been 
jilted  by  a  certain  tailor-made  and  Paris-enamelled 
widow  whom  Thorndyke  paid  considerable  atten- 
tion to  and  cordially  hated.  That  very  after- 
noon, though,  he  had  his  recompense,  for,  stroll- 
ing through  the  beautiful  but  unfashionable  Smith- 
[161] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
sonian  grounds,  he  met  Constance  Maitland  driv- 
ing ;  and  in  response  to  a  timid  request  on  his  part, 
she  took  him  in  the  victoria,  and  they  had  a 
delicious  hour  to  themselves  under  the  great,  over- 
hanging elms  and  lindens.  Few  situations  are  more 
agreeable  than  driving  in  a  victoria  with  a  charm- 
ing woman  on  a  sunny  spring  afternoon  through  a 
secluded  park.  Something  like  it  may  be  expe- 
rienced by  sitting  in  a  darkened  theatre-box  a  little 
behind,  and  within  touch  of  a  dainty  ear,  inhaling 
the  odour  of  the  flowers  she  wears  upon  her  breast, 
and  watching,  with  her,  the  development  of  the  old 
love-story  on  the  stage.  But  all  pleasures  have  their 
seasons — and  in  the  spring,  the  victoria  is  more  en- 
ticing than  the  theatre-box.  And  Constance  was  so 
very,  very  kind  to  him  that  afternoon  ! 

She  showed  a  truly  feminine  curiosity  about  An- 
nette Crane,  whom  Thorndyke  praised  unstintedly, 
and  when  he  asked  Constance  to  call  on  Mrs.  Crane, 
Constance  replied  that  she  already  intended  to  do 
so.  She  asked  about  Crane's  political  prospects, 
which  Thorndyke  assured  her  were  of  the  bright- 
est, adding  he  had  grave  apprehensions  that  the 
majority  in  the  lower  House  would  not,  after  all, 
[162] 


A    NEW    SENATOR 

make  fools  of  themselves  as  he  ardently  desired  they 
should — which  sentiment  was  promptly  rebuked 
by  Constance,  who,  womanlike,  never  could  be 
made  to  really  understand  the  game  of  politics. 
Then  he  asked  her  what  she  had  been  doing  in 
that  week.  She  had  been  out  to  a  suburban 
club  to  a  dinner  given  by  Cathcart,  at  which  infor- 
mation Thorndyke  scowled.  Sir  Mark  le  Poer  was 
coming  back  to  town  for  a  few  days,  expressly,  so 
Constance  believed,  to  see  the  Honourable  Mark 
Antony  Hudgins,  of  Texas.  The  meeting  of  the 
Guild  for  Superannuated  Governesses  had  taken 
place  at  the  house  of  the  Secretary  of  State,  Mrs. 
Hill-Smith  in  the  chair,  and  had  been  extremely 
amusing.  It  had  been  determined  to  give  an  ama- 
teur concert  in  a  fashionable  hotel  ball-room.  This, 
as  always,  had  caused  many  heart-burnings  and 
bickerings.  The  concert  was  to  be  followed  by  a  tea 
in  the  same  ball-room.  All  of  the  prominent  ladies 
of  the  diplomatic  corps  had  been  asked  to  act  as  pa- 
tronesses, and  all  had  agreed,  but  were  not  sure  they 
could  be  present.  Some  ladies  of  great  wealth, 
who  were  even  newer  than  the  Baldwins,  came  rather 
aggressively  to  the  front.  Mrs.  Hill-Smith,  with 
[163] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
other  scions  of  old  families  of  her  date — 1860 — 
thought  that  no  one  whose  family  was  not  moder- 
ately old — that  is  to  say  about  1870 — should  be 
among  the  directors  and  patronesses.  They  did  not 
speak  this  aloud,  but  there  was  a  general  knowledge 
prevailing  of  the  period  when  the  various  ladies  had 
emerged  from  having  "help"  to  the  stage  of  having 
servants — when  they  had  changed  the  two-o'clock 
dinner  to  the  eight-o'clock  function.  Each  of  these 
ladies  knew  all  about  the  others,  but  hugged  the  de- 
lusion that  the  others  did  not  know  about  them,  or 
thought,  as  Eleanor  Baldwin  did,  that  they  had 
come  of  a  long  line  of  belted  earls,  the  Hogans  in- 
cluded. Mrs.  Baldwin,  handsomer,  haughtier-look- 
ing, and  more  silent  than  usual,  listened  to  what  was 
said.  Constance  Maitland — she  alone,  who  fath- 
omed the  nature  of  this  misunderstood  woman — 
said,  in  describing  it  to  Thorndyke,  that  she  be- 
lieved Mrs.  Baldwin  realised  the  nonsense  of  the  pro- 
ceedings better  than  any  one  present.  Constance's 
eyes  danced  when  she  told  about  the  way  in  which 
her  only  suggestion  was  received — that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  find  any  parallel  between  the  condi- 
tions of  governesses  in  England  and  the  United 
[164] 


A    NEW    SENATOR 

States.  This,  however,  was  ruthlessly  brushed  aside 
by  a  lady  who  was  determined  that  her  daughter 
should  sing  a  duet  at  the  concert  with  a  member  of 
the  Austrian  Embassy  staff.  For  the  first  time  Mrs. 
Baldwin's  voice  was  heard  and  in  it  quiet  advocacy 
of  something  sensible.  This  was  when  it  was  deter- 
mined to  charge  a  stupendous  price  for  the  tickets. 

"In  that  case,"  she  said,  "it  seems  to  me 
that  we  ought  to  have  some  real  music.  It  doesn't 
seem  quite  right  to  charge  the  price  asked  to  hear 
good  music,  and  then  give  a  mere  amateur  perform- 
ance." 

"But  it  is  for  charity !"  screamed  several  ladies 
in  chorus. 

Then  Constance,  still  with  dancing  eyes,  told  that 
great  stress  had  been  laid  upon  the  alleged  opinions 
of  various  ladies  of  the  diplomatic  corps,  who  had 
carefully  refrained  from  expressing  any  opinions 
at  all  and  were  not  present  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves; and  Constance  had  landed  a  second  bomb- 
shell in  the  camp  by  pleading  ignorance  of  many 
admirable  things,  owing  to  her  ill-fortune  in  being 
educated  chiefly  in  Europe.  This  remark  necessi- 
tated an  immediate  departure,  in  which  she  was  f  ol- 
[165] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
lowed  by  Mrs.  Baldwin.     The  two  going  out  to- 
gether, Mrs.  Baldwin  had  said  diffidently  to  Con- 
stance : 

"Miss  Maitland — I — I  think  you  are  right  in 
all  you  have  said  to-day.  I  hope  you'll  come  to  see 
me  soon.  I  don't  seem  to  be  afraid  of  you — you're 
genuine.  You're  never  pretending  to  anything. 
Good-bye." 

Mrs.  Baldwin  had  not  the  gift  of  tongues,  but, 
as  Constance  said,  a  compliment  from  Mrs.  Bald- 
win was  of  value,  no  matter  how  awkwardly  it  was 
expressed. 

A  few  afternoons  later,  Constance  drove  out  to 
the  Cranes'  suburban  villa,  but  Mrs.  Crane  was  not 
at  home.  Constance  was  disappointed — her  curios- 
ity to  see  Crane's  wife  was  unabated.  Ten  days 
afterward,  on  a  warm  afternoon,  Constance  sat  in 
her  cool  drawing-room,  fresh  in  its  summer  dress  of 
linen  covers,  bead  portieres,  and  shaded  by  awnings, 
waiting  for  her  carriage.  Mrs.  Crane  was  an- 
nounced. The  first  impression  which  Constance  got 
of  Annette  Crane  was  that  she  was  exquisitely 
dressed.  Her  gown  was  a  delicate,  pale-blue  muslin, 
her  hat,  a  white  straw,  trimmed  with  white  ribbons. 
[166] 


A    NEW    SENATOR 

Both  gown  and  hat  were  of  her  own  creation,  and 
the  whole  outfit  had  cost  less  than  ten  dollars — bxit 
not  the  greatest  man-milliner  in  Paris  ever  turned 
out  anything  more  becoming  to  Annette's  simple 
and  natural  beauty  than  she  herself  had  evolved 
from  the  "Emporium"  at  Circleville.  The  dainti- 
ness and  freshness  of  it  was  charming;  and  when, 
in  moving,  she  accidentally  displayed  a  snowy,  lace- 
edged  petticoat,  this  daintiness  and  freshness  was 
emphasised. 

Never  in  her  life  had  Annette  looked  forward  to 
a  visit  with  the  same  dislike  as  this  one.  Crane  had  at 
last  spoken  of  Constance  Maitland,  saying  he  meant 
to  ask  her  to  call.  He  was  very  guarded  in  all  he 
said,  but  Annette,  as  would  any  intelligent  wife,  saw 
that  he  was  on  his  guard,  and  that,  in  itself,  told 
much.  She  said  nothing;  she  was  far  above  the 
spites  of  petty  jealousy.  She  no  longer  depreciated 
herself  in  general,  but  she  had  been  a  little  fright- 
ened by  Thorndyke's  praises  of  Constance  Mait- 
land's  intelligence  and  charm.  And  Annette  had, 
by  clairvoyance,  come  very  near  to  Crane's  real  feel- 
ing for  Constance.  It  was  not  love — she  had  be- 
gun miserably  to  doubt  whether  he  were  really  capa- 
[167] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
ble  of  love — but  it  was  a  degree  of  admiration  which 
could  not  be  agreeable  to  any  wife,  because  it  was 
plain  that  Constance  was  the  standard  by  which 
Crane  measured  women.  Constance  could  at  any 
moment  influence  Crane;  so  Annette  justly  sur- 
mised. No  woman  of  sense  objects  to  her  hus- 
band's simple  admiration  of  another  woman,  but 
when  it  comes  to  another  woman  being  a  factor  in 
his  life  and  his  thoughts,  a  wife  must  and  should 
resent  it. 

So  it  was  that  Annette  disliked  the  visit  she  had 
to  pay,  and  yet  was  careful  not  to  postpone  it.  But 
by  some  magic  of  thought  and  feeling,  the  instant 
she  came  face  to  face  with  Constance  Maitland,  An- 
nette Crane  knew  she  had  a  friend.  In  a  moment 
she  was  at  ease.  Like  a  woman  of  the  world  in  the 
best  sense,  Constance  at  once  found  something  in 
common  to  talk  about,  and  the  two  sat,  in  the  friend- 
liest conversation  possible,  each  singularly  pleased 
with  the  other. 

Seeing  Constance  dressed  to  go  out,  and  the  vic- 
toria standing  at  the  door,  Annette,  after  paying  a 
short  visit,  rose  to  go,  and  with  more  reluctance 
than  she  had  thought  possible. 
[168] 


A    NEW    SENATOR 

"If  you  are  returning  home,  perhaps  you  will  al- 
low me  to  drive  you  out,"  said  Constance,  affably, 
and  Annette  accepted  without  any  demurs. 

Seated  together  in  the  carriage,  the  conversation 
between  the  two  turned  on  Thorndyke.  Annette  ex- 
pressed frankly  the  deep  regard  she  had  for  him, 
and  described  her  efforts  to  keep  the  children  from 
annoying  him,  while  Thorndyke,  from  simple  toler- 
ance of  them  at  first,  had  become  an  accomplished 
child-spoiler  and  destroyer  of  parental  discipline. 
Constance  spoke  of  Thorndyke  as  frankly  and  with- 
out the  least  embarrassment,  but  Annette,  who  had 
surmised  very  readily  where  Constance  stood  in  the 
regard  of  two  men,  one  of  them  her  own  hus- 
band, had  little  difficulty  in  settling 'to  her  own  sat- 
isfaction that  Miss  Maitland  had  a  particular  re- 
gard for  Mr.  Thorndyke. 

After  driving  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  along 
a  suburban  road,  they  came  to  the  cottage  where 
the  Cranes  had  established  their  quarters.  It  was 
near  six  o'clock,  and  Crane  had  returned  early 
from  the  Capitol.  He  was  sitting  on  the  veranda 
reading  to  Roger  and  Elizabeth  when  Constance 
Maitland's  carriage  drove  up. 
[169] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
Since  the  meeting  with  his  children  and  noting 
their  perfectly  respectful,  but  perfectly  evident,  in- 
difference toward  him,  Crane  had  received  a  blow 
where  he  least  expected  it.  He  was  surprised  at  the 
degree  to  which  it  affected  him.  Their  laughing 
eyes,  suddenly  growing  demure  on  his  approach, 
haunted  him  amid  the  hurly-burly  of  debate,  and  in 
long  conferences  on  his  political  future.  Impelled 
by  all  the  natural  impulses,  Crane  determined  to  try 
and  win  his  children's  hearts ;  and  as  a  beginning, 
he  had  come  home  early  from  the  House  that  day, 
bringing  with  him  a  book  to  read  to  them.  The 
reading  had  been  a  success,  and  in  the  midst  of  it 
Crane  looked  up  and  saw  the  victoria  approaching 
with  his  wife  and  Constance  Maitland  in  it.  He 
rose  at  once  and  walked  down  the  shady  path  to 
where  the  carriage  stood.  The  children,  hand  in 
hand,  followed  after,  blowing  kisses  to  their  mother. 
Crane  was  so  possessed  with  the  idea  that  An- 
nette, as  a  native  of  Circleville,  must  be  far  inferior 
to  Constance,  that  he  had  a  shock  of  surprise  when 
he  saw  the  two  women  actually  compared,  and  real- 
ised that  Annette  was  by  no  means  cast  into  the 
shade.  Constance  was  conscious  of  this,  but  good- 
[170] 


A    NEW    SENATOR 

naturally  wished  Annette  to  have  the  benefit 
of  it. 

Crane  talked  pleasantly  with  Constance  for  a  few 
minutes,  Annette  still  sitting  in  the  carriage.  He 
was  certainly  remarkably  handsome,  as  the  declin- 
ing sun  shone  on  his  clear-cut,  olive  face,  with  the 
little  rings  of  dark-brown  hair  showing  on  his  fore- 
head. Constance  thought  the  Cranes  the  hand- 
somest couple  she  had  seen  for  a  long  time.  The 
children  were  introduced,  behaved  well,  as  American, 
and  especially  Western,  children  seldom  do — and 
then  Constance  said  to  Annette : 

"I  shall  soon  be  closing  my  house  for  the  season, 
but  before  doing  so,  I  hope  to  have  you  and  Mr. 
Crane  to  dinner  with  me  some  evening." 

"We  will  come  with  pleasure,"  replied  Annette; 
and  a  date  was  arranged  for  the  following  week. 

Constance  returned  to  town,  thinking  to  herself 
what  a  fool  Crane  must  be  not  to  be  satisfied  with 
such  a  wife  as  Annette. 


[171] 


Chapter  Nine 

CONCERNING     THINGS    NOT     TO     BE     MENTIONED    IN 
THE     SOCIETY     JOURNALS 

The  days  went  rapidly  by  for  Crane,  to  whom 
they  were  full  of  events.  The  House  committed 
fewer  follies  than  might  have  been  expected,  and 
the  management  of  the  international  crisis  had  put 
the  country  into  a  thoroughly  good  humour  with 
both  the  House  and  the  Administration.  Crane 
gained  steadily  in  consequence  among  the  politi- 
cians, and  it  was  with  difficulty  he  kept  his  head; 
but  he  kept  it. 

He  did  not  relax  his  efforts  to  win  his  children's 
hearts,  and  in  the  effort  he  began  to  feel  a  strange 
jealousy  of  Thorndyke,  who  had  won  them  without 
any  effort  at  all.  Thorndyke  had  not  only  taken 
Roger  and  Elizabeth  to  the  Zoo  on  the  first  Sun- 
day, but  on  the  next  he  had  appeared,  looking  ex- 
tremely sheepish,  and  had  requested  the  pleasure  of 

[17*] 


THINGS  NOT  TO  BE  MENTIONED 
their  company  to  the  Zoo  again.  The  children  were 
in  paroxysms  of  delight,  and  Annette  laughed  out- 
right at  Thorndyke,  particularly  when  he  admitted 
that  he  had  declined  an  invitation  to  a  breakfast  at 
the  Brentwood  Baldwins  on  the  ground  of  a  pre- 
vious engagement  in  order  to  carry  out  this  little 
trip  to  the  Zoo.  The  trio  went  off  together  in  great 
spirits,  and  Crane  and  Annette  were  left  alone. 
Through  all  the  laughing  and  joking  with  the  chil- 
dren, Crane  had  sat  silent  and  sombre — they  had 
not  yet  laughed  and  joked  with  him.  Suddenly, 
he  proposed  a  walk  to  Annette.  It  was  so  long  since 
such  a  thing  had  occurred  that  he  was  embarrassed 
in  giving  the  invitation,  and  she  in  accepting  it; 
but  they  walked  together  along  the  country  lanes  in 
the  quiet  Sunday  noon,  and  a  shadow  of  the  old  con- 
fidence was  restored  between  them.  But  Crane  was 
still  fully  convinced  that  Annette  was  not  cut  out 
for  the  wife  of  a  public  man,  and  could  not  shine  in 
cosmopolitan  society.  He  was  soon  to  have  an 
opportunity  to  judge  of  her  in  this  last  partic- 
ular. 

Constance  Maitland  had  set  her  mind  to  work 
upon  that  difficult  and  interesting  problem — the 
[173] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
composition  of  a  small  dinner.    More  than  that,  she 
meant  it  to  be  one  at  which  Annette  would  be  at  her 
best. 

The  materials  to  form  a  good  dinner  abound  in 
Washington,  and  Constance  Maitland  knew  it.  As 
the  smart  set  in  Washington  is  composed  largely 
of  persons  who  have  made  large  fortunes  in  trade, 
and  who  have  come  to  Washington  to  enjoy  these 
fortunes,  Constance  knew  that  from  this  particular 
element  she  could  not  well  draw  the  material  for  a 
really  sparkling  dinner.  The  people  in  Europe 
know  something  after  all,  and  their  dictum  that  an 
elegant  and  brilliant  society  cannot  be  constructed 
out  of  retired  merchants  has  not  yet  been  disproved. 
Let  us  be  candid  to  ourselves.  But  in  Washington 
the  materials  for  a  real  society  exist  outside  of  this 
element,  and  Constance  Maitland  had  been  lucky 
enough  to  find  it.  Sir  Mark  le  Poer  was  in  town 
again,  which  Constance  reckoned  as  a  special  Provi- 
dence. Like  all  Englishmen  of  good  position,  Sir 
Mark  was  bored  within  an  inch  of  his  life  by  the 
Anglo-American  girl,  who  is  an  easily  detected  im- 
itation. Constance,  having  been  a  friend  of  Sir 
Mark's  for  many  years,  and  knowing  him  like  a 
[HI] 


THINGS    NOT    TO    BE    MENTIONED 

book,  spared  him  this  infliction.  She  selected  in  the 
construction  of  the  party  Mrs.  Willoughby,  an  ac- 
complished Washington  woman,  whose  family  had 
social  antecedents  dating  back  to  the  days  of  Abi- 
gail Adams.  Mrs.  Willoughby  had  been  a  distin- 
guished hostess  for  twenty  years,  until  the  influx  of 
pork,  whiskey,  dry-goods,  and  the  like  commodities 
had  overwhelmed  everything  to  the  manner  born. 
She  took  it  all  good-naturedly,  and  got  a  great  deal 
of  amusement  out  of  the  status  quo.  Then  there 
was  Mary  Beekman,  of  New  York,  young,  charm- 
ing, and  rich,  whose  parents  had  owned  a  box  at  the 
New  York  Academy  of  Music,  but  who  were  con- 
spicuously out  of  it  with  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
set.  As  Mrs.  Willoughby  remarked,  when  Con- 
stance mentioned  the  party  she  had  made  up : 

"What  a  very  interesting  collection  of  has-beens 
you  have  got  together,  my  dear." 

For  the  men,  besides  Crane  and  Sir  Mark  le  Poer, 
Constance  had  secured  Thorndyke,  an  admirable 
dinner  man,  and  a  courtly  old  Admiral — for  she 
was  quite  unlike  the  widow  of  a  prominent  shoe- 
dealer,  who  emigrated  to  Washington  and  became 
violently  fashionable,  and  who  declared  that  on  her 
[175] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
visiting  list  she  "drew  the  line  at  the  army  and 
navy."  On  the  evening  of  the  dinner  there  was  to 
be  a  belated  reception  at  the  White  House,  in  honour 
of  an  international  commission  which  had  just 
opened  its  sittings  in  Washington,  and  it  was  ar- 
ranged that  the  dinner  should  be  somewhat  early, 
that  the  whole  party,  being  invited  to  the  White 
House,  might  adjourn  there. 

The  rest  of  the  guests  were  assembled  in  Con- 
stance's drawing-room  before  the  Cranes  arrived. 
Crane  himself  always  looked  superbly  handsome 
in  evening-clothes,  and  Annette's  appearance  was 
scarcely  inferior  in  another  way.  As  on  her  first 
meeting  with  Constance,  Annette  gave  the  impres- 
sion of  being  exquisitely  gowned.  A  simple  white 
crepe,  cut  low,  showed  off  her  beautiful  arms  and 
shoulders,  and  a  few  moss  rosebuds  in  their  green 
leaves  gave  the  needed  touch  of  colour  to  her  cos- 
tume. Simplicity  is  always  the  last  form  of  ele- 
gance to  be  attained,  and  Annette  Crane  had  at- 
tained it. 

Constance  Maitland,  too,  was  at  her  best,  in  a 
shimmering  black  gown,  like  a  starry  night,  and 
with  her  grandmother's  pearl  necklace  around  her 
[176] 


THINGS    NOT    TO    BE    MENTIONED 
white  throat.     Mrs.  Willoughby,  with  resplendent 
black  eyes  and  snow-white  hair,  looked  like  one  of 
Sir  Peter  Lely's  court  of  beauties,  and  Mary  Beek- 
man  was  pretty  enough  to  shine  anywhere. 

When  they  were  seated  around  the  table  the  men 
secretly  congratulated  themselves  on  the  looks  of 
the  women  with  whom  they  were  to  dine;  and 
Thorndyke  voiced  this  opinion  by  quoting  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes's  suggestion  that  peas  and  pota- 
toes could  be  warmed  into  an  early  fruition  by  sur- 
rounding them  with  a  ring  of  handsome  women — 
such  as  were  then  present — which  caused  the  ladies 
all  to  beam  on  him. 

Annette,  seated  between  the  Admiral  and  Sir 
Mark  le  Poer,  with  Thorndyke's  kind  eyes  across  the 
table  to  encourage  her,  and  with  Constance  Mait- 
land's  fine  gift  as  a  hostess  to  sustain  her,  felt  per- 
fectly at  ease.  Such  was  not  the  case  with  Crane 
himself.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  dined  at 
Constance  Maitland's  house,  and  he  yearned  to  dis- 
tinguish himself.  He  wished  the  conversation  would 
turn  on  public  affairs ;  he  felt  he  could  easily  lay 
them  all  under  a  spell  then,  forgetting  that  people 
don't  go  out  to  dinner  to  be  spellbound,  but  to  enjoy 
[177] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
an  idle  hour,  and  to  exchange  those  pleasant  free- 
doms and  trifles  which  make  up  the  sum  of  recrea- 
tion. 

The  Admiral,  a  white-moustached,  charming  old 
man,  who  had  hobnobbed  with  princes,  and  was  none 
the  worse  for  it,  began  to  compliment  Annette  on 
her  gown,  after  having  previously  called  her  "my 
dear." 

"Really,"  he  said,  "that  gown  is  a  most  stunning 
creation." 

Thorndyke  chimed  in  here : 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "It  makes  Mrs.  Crane  look  like 
a  white  narcissus  blooming  in  a  bed  of  mignonette." 

No  woman  is  ever  disconcerted  by  compliments, 
and  Annette  was  charmed  at  the  praises  lavished  on 
her — and  particularly  in  Crane's  presence. 

"I  should  say,"  remarked  Sir  Mark  le  Poer,  "with 
my  feeble  powers  of  comparison,  that  Mrs.  Crane's 
gown  reminds  me  of  some  of  your  delicious  Ameri- 
can dishes,  not  all  sauces  and  flavourings  like  our 
European  things,  but  fresh  and  new  and  exquisite. 
I  know  I  have  a  grovelling  nature,  but,  'pon  my 
soul,  is  there  anything  more  charming  than  a  dish 

of  delicate  soft  crabs  on  a  bed  of  parsley " 

[178] 


THINGS    NOT    TO    BE    MENTIONED 

"Oh,  oh!"  cried  Constance.  "How  your  soul 
must  grovel !  However,  it's  the  highest  compliment 
Sir  Mark  can  pay  you,  Mrs.  Crane,  because  I  know 
he  has  an  unholy  passion  for  soft  crabs." 

"I  will  pay  you  the  highest  compliment  of  all," 
said  Mrs.  Willoughby,  "I  will  ask  you,  who  is 
your  dressmaker?" 

"I  made  this  gown  myself,"  answered  Annette, 
with  a  pretty  smile. 

Crane  thought  he  should  have  gone  through  the 
floor  into  the  cellar.  He  had  never  in  his  life  felt 
such  a  rage  of  shame.  There  was  Constance  Mait- 
land  in  a  gown  that  shouted  out  its  French  nation- 
ality in  every  line  and  fold.  Mrs.  Willoughby  and 
Miss  Beekman  wore  the  smartest  of  smart  creations 
— probably  not  one  of  them  had  ever  done  a  stitch 
of  sewing  in  their  lives,  while  here  was  Annette  an- 
nouncing that  she  made  her  own  gown !  The  next 
thing  he  expected  her  to  proclaim  was  that  she  had 
just  completed  six  suits  of  pajamas  for  him,  all 
made  with  her  own  hands  and  feet,  on  her  own  sew- 
ing-machine at  Circleville. 

Three  persons  at  the  table — Thorndyke,  Con- 
stance, and  Annette  herself — saw  how  annoyed 
[179] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
Crane  was  at  what  he  regarded  as  a  very  damaging 
admission.  Annette,  however,  was  quite  composed. 
She  saw  that  instead  of  making  a  mistake  she  had 
really  made  a  hit,  for  she  was  more  complimented 
than  ever  upon  her  cleverness  in  making  so  beautiful 
a  gown.  In  truth,  the  sweet  and  natural  way  in 
which  she  owned  to  her  handiwork  completed  the 
charm  of  her  simple  and  unaffected  personality. 
Mrs.  Willoughby,  turning  despairingly  to  the  other 
women,  said : 

"We  are  simply  outclassed.  Every  man  here 
thinks  that  all  of  us,  like  Mrs.  Crane,  could  make 
our  own  gowns  if  only  we  were  clever  enough." 

"I  have  always  thought,"  said  Thorndyke,  smil- 
ing, "that  Napoleon's  idea  of  the  education  of  wom- 
en was  probably  right — a  plenty  of  religion  and 
needle-work.  However,  as  I  may  get  myself  in 
trouble,  I  will  say  no  more." 

"Very  properly,"  replied  Constance,  who  meant 
to  enlighten  Crane  on  his  wife's  accomplishments. 
"I  have  a  great  deal  of  religion,  when  I  am  not 
annoyed  by  anything,  and  I  beg  all  of  the  gentle- 
men to  observe  that  even  if  I  were  clever  enough  to 
make  a  gown  like  Mrs.  Crane's,  I  could  not  wear  it. 
[180] 


THINGS    NOT    TO    BE    MENTIONED 
It  is  too  well  adapted  to  Mrs.  Crane's  style  for  any 
one  else  to  venture  on  it." 

"I  could  have  worn  it  thirty  years  ago,"  said 
Mrs.  Willoughby,  with  dangerous  candour.  "But 
the  fact  is,  Miss  Maitland,  all  of  these  men  are  so 
absurdly  prejudiced  in  favour  of  the  gown,  that 
they  overrate  it.  After  all,  the  rest  of  us  are  fairly 
well-dressed." 

Annette  took  all  this  in  the  spirit  of  playful  com- 
pliment in  which  it  was  meant,  and  was  flattered  by 
it.  Not  so  Crane.  He  thought  that  Annette  had, 
at  first,  let  an  ugly  cat  out  of  the  bag,  and  secondly, 
that  Mrs.  Willoughby  was  insolent  in  saying  the 
gown  was  overrated.  But  before  the  dinner  was 
over,  his  eyes  were  opened  to  the  fact  that  Annette 
had  made  a  most  agreeable  impression,  and  every 
man  present  admired  her,  and  every  woman  present 
liked  her. 

As  soon  as  the  rather  short  dinner  was  through, 
the  carriages  were  called  to  take  the  party  to  the 
White  House.  When  Crane  and  Annette  were  alone 
in  their  cab,  he  said  to  her : 

"It  seems  to  me  you  made  a  bad  break  in  saying 
you  made  your  gown  yourself." 
[181] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
"Far  from  it,"  replied  Annette,  pleasantly.  "It 
seems  to  have  made  them  all  like  me  better.  Mrs. 
Willoughby  and  Miss  Beekman  both  said  they  would 
be  glad  to  call  to  see  me,  and  so  did  the  Admiral.  I 
think  I  was  a  success." 

Crane  felt  like  rubbing  his  eyes  and  pulling  his 
ears.  Was  this  his  submissive  Annette,  who  never 
questioned  his  word  on  any  subject?  He  half  ex- 
pected her  to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  he  had 
been  rather  dull  at  the  dinner,  but  although  Annette 
knew  it  quite  as  well  as  he  did,  she  forbore  to  men- 
tion it. 

When  they  reached  the  White  House,  there  was 
the  usual  crowd  of  carriages,  their  lamps  twinkling 
like  myriads  of  stars  in  the  soft  spring  night,  the 
roar  of  horses'  hoofs  upon  the  asphalt,  the  crowds 
of  gaily  dressed  women  in  evening-gowns  disem- 
barking at  the  north  portico,  the  blare  of  music 
from  the  red-coated  band  within  the  corridors.  Con- 
stance Maitland,  on  Sir  Mark  le  Peer's  arm,  and 
followed  by  her  dinner-guests,  presently  found  her- 
self shaking  hands  with  the  President  and  bowing 
to  the  line  of  ladies  of  the  Administration,  which 
extended  across  the  oval  reception-room.  Next  the 
[182] 


THINGS    NOT    TO    BE    MENTIONED 

President's  wife  stood  the  wife  of  the  Secretary  of 
State.  She  was  a  small,  thin  woman,  with  a  deter- 
mined nose  and  the  general  aspect  of  a  mediaeval 
battle-axe.  She  was  simply  though  splendidly  at- 
tired in  black  velvet,  with  lace  and  diamonds,  and 
was  as  faultlessly  correct  as  the  Secretary  himself, 
in  language  and  deportment,  except  in  one  small 
particular — she  could  not  pronounce  the  word 
"Something."  She  invariably  called  it  "su'thin" — 
a  souvenir  of  her  early  bringing  up  on  the  banks  of 
Lake  Michigan.  She  greeted  Constance  coolly,  re- 
membering the  meeting  at  her  house  for  the  Guild 
of  Superannuated  Governesses,  but  she  was  effusive 
toward  Sir  Mark  le  Poer. 

Constance,  however,  blandly  unconscious,  passed 
on,  and  when  she  reached  the  point  whence  ingress 
is  had  to  that  select  region  known  as  "behind  the 
line,"  she  was  invited,  with  Sir  Mark,  to  join  the 
elect.  Directly  behind  her  was  Thorndyke  with 
Mary  Beekman,  followed  by  the  Admiral  with  Mrs. 
Willoughby,  and  they,  too,  were  invited  within  the 
holy  precincts.  The  President  himself  had  stopped 
Crane  for  a  word  with  him,  and,  on  having  Mrs. 
Crane  presented,  had  promptly  invited  her  behind 
[183] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
the  line.     This  was  partly  due  to  the  white  crepe 
gown. 

In  the  general  mix-up  that  followed  in  the  hal- 
lowed spot,  Constance  found  herself  one  of  a  group 
near  Mrs.  Hill-Smith,  on  the  arm  of  the  British  Am- 
bassador, and  Eleanor  Baldwin  and  the  Honoura- 
ble Edward  George  Francis  Castlestuart-Stuart. 
Close  by  were  Mrs.  James  Brentwood  Baldwin  and 
Mr.  James  Brentwood  Baldwin,  and  Mr.  James 
Brentwood  Baldwin  was  gravitating  toward  the  Sec- 
retary of  State,  who  loomed  large  at  hand.  The 
Secretary  was  in  a  very  bad  humour  for  so  amiable 
a  man,  but  diplomatically  concealed  it.  After 
eighteen  months  spent  in  labouring  over  a  couple  of 
treaties,  they  had  been  knocked  out  in  three  weeks 
by  the  Senate.  The  chief  of  the  gang  who  perpe- 
trated this  nefarious  act  was  a  Southern  Senator — 
the  wildest,  woolliest,  and  weirdest  of  all  the  wild 
and  woolly  and  weird  Senators  to  be  found  in  the 
north  wing  of  the  Capitol.  But  he  happened 
to  be  a  lawyer,  and  he  had  punched  the  treaties 
so  full  of  holes  that  they  were  literally  laughed  out 
of  court.  This  injured  the  Secretary's  feelings 
very  much,  but  he  remembered  that  Beaconsfield 
[184] 


THINGS    NOT    TO    BE    MENTIONED 
and  Gortschakoff  and  Bismarck  used  to  be  ruffled 
the  same  way,  so  he  concluded  to  bear  it  like  a 
statesman  and  a  Christian. 

Drifting  toward  the  Secretary  and  Mr.  Baldwin 
was  a  very  odd-looking  object,  whom  Thorndyke 
whispered  to  Constance  was  Senator  Mince  Pie 
Mulligan.  These  three  got  into  conversation,  very 
languid  on  the  part  of  the  Secretary  and  Mr.  James 
Brentwood  Baldwin,  but  very  strenuous  on  the  part 
of  Senator  Mince  Pie  Mulligan.  A  part  of  Mr. 
James  Brentwood  Baldwin's  coyness  came  from  the 
fact  that  he  and  Senator  Mulligan  were  old  ac- 
quaintances— a  fact  which  Mr.  Baldwin  had  no  dis- 
position to  brag  about. 

The  new  Senator  had  a  head  of  blazing  red  hair 
which  was  as  good  as  a  stove  on  a  cold  night.  He 
might  have  stepped  bodily  from  the  pages  of  Life 
as  regarded  his  contours,  but  his'  small,  light-blue 
eye  glittered  with  humour  and  shrewdness,  while  his 
great  slit  of  a  mouth,  which  divided  his  face  fairly 
in  the  middle,  had  lines  of  both  sense  and  kindliness. 
He  was  enjoying  himself  hugely,  and  was  not  afraid 
to  let  anybody  see  it.  Not  so  Mr.  James  Brentwood 
Baldwin,  or  the  Secretary  of  State,  but  a  Senator 
[185] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

is  a  Senator  to  the  Secretary  of  State,  and  Secre- 
tary Slater  had  in  mind  other  treaties  to  be  laid  be- 
fore the  Senate,  and  so  was  fairly  civil  to  Senator 
Mulligan.  Mince  Pie,  himself,  was  much  struck  by 
the  appearance  of  Eleanor  Baldwin,  who  was  easily 
the  handsomest  woman  present,  except  her  mother, 
but  although  Mr.  James  Brentwood  Baldwin  owned 
up  that  Eleanor  was  his  daughter,  he  made  no  move 
to  introduce  Senator  Mulligan  to  her. 

Eleanor  Baldwin  was  a  patriot.  It  was  her  sense 
of  patriotic  duty  alone  which  took  her  to  a  White 
House  reception.  White  House  receptions,  in  every 
particular,  including  the  cabinet  people  and  those 
behind  the  line,  were  "mixed."  This  word  "mixed" 
meant,  to  Eleanor,  a  social  Gehenna,  while  the  word 
"exclusive"  spelled,  for  her,  the  very  joy  of  living. 
There  were  some  "nice  people" — by  whom  she  meant 
the  diplomatic  corps  and  those  who  were  intimate 
with  them,  and  some  people  from  the  smart  sets  of 
near-by  cities — but  still  it  was  "mixed."  There  was 
Letty  Standiford,  whose  father,  had  Eleanor  but 
known  it,  was  personally  responsible  for  the  pres- 
ent occupant  of  the  White  House  being  there.  Then 
she  noticed,  quite  close  to  her,  the  daughter  of  a 
[186] 


THINGS  NOT  TO  BE  MENTIONED 
Senator  who  lived  in  a  very  unfashionable  part  of 
the  town — a  girl  whom  she  would  never  have  known, 
except  that  paying  calls  one  day,  with  Mrs.  Hill- 
Smith,  she  happened  to  go  to  the  Senator's  house. 
It  had  contained  for  her  the  one  unattainable  thing 
in  life — some  fine  old  furniture  and  portraits,  and 
a  beautiful  old  grandfather's  clock,  which  had  been 
inherited,  and  by  which  the  Senator's  daughter  had 
not  seemed  to  set  any  special  store.  Eleanor  would 
have  given  all  of  their  costly  bric-a-brac  for  one 
single  piece  of  old  silver  or  furniture  or  lace  that 
had  belonged  even  so  far  back  as  to  her  grand- 
parents ;  but  neither  the  Baldwins  nor  the  Hogans 
had  inherited  any  silver,  furniture,  or  lace,  or  any- 
thing except  good,  strong  legs  and  arms,  and  the 
capacity  to  use  them.  The  sight  of  family  treasures 
always  produced  a  vague  discomfort  in  Eleanor 
Baldwin's  mind,  and  gave  her  a  kind  of  pique  tow- 
ard those  who  possessed  them.  At  that  very  mo- 
ment she  felt  a  secret  dislike  toward  the  Senator's 
daughter,  who  had  on  a  beautiful  antique  lace  ber- 
tha, which  had  been  worn  by  many  generations  of 
ladies  before  the  Brentwood  Baldwins  had  "ar- 
rived," as  the  French  say.  There  had  been  a  fire 
[187] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
in  the  Baldwin  family,  and  likewise  one  in  the  Ho- 
gan  family,  and  Eleanor  had  persuaded  herself 
that  the  frame  houses  burnt  down  in  these  two  fires 
were  stately  mansions,  and  priceless  family  treas- 
ures had  perished  in  the  flames — and  she  had  hinted 
at  this  so  often  that  she  had  really  come  to  believe 
it.  She  was  surprised  to  see  that  her  father  and 
also  the  Secretary  of  State  were  talking  with  that 
curious-looking  object,  Senator  Mulligan,  whose 
name  she  had  heard.  But  seeing  the  British  Ambas- 
sador approach  with  Mrs.  Hill-Smith  on  his  arm, 
and  Constance  Maitland  with  Sir  Mark  le  Poer, 
Eleanor  turned  her  whole  attention  to  them.  She, 
too,  had  brought  dinner-guests  with  her.  She  had 
been  the  hostess  at  one  of  those  extraordinary  din- 
ners introduced  within  the  last  few  years  by  host- 
esses whose  experience  of  dinner-giving  is  rudi- 
mentary. At  these  dinners,  which  are  consid- 
ered by  their  innocent  perpetrators  as  being  the 
acme  of  elegance,  all  the  men  are  foreigners.  When 
Eleanor  Baldwin  had  achieved  one  of  these  dinners, 
she  felt  that  she  had  accomplished  a  social  triumph. 
Mrs.  Hill-Smith  had  chaperoned  the  dinner ;  and  the 
diplomats  invited  had  refrained  from  laughing  in 
[188] 


THINGS    NOT    TO    BE    MENTIONED 
the  face  of  their  hostess,  although  they  had  chuckled 
with  amusement  when  in  the  dressing-room. 

Mrs.  Baldwin,  who  stood  in  the  background,  wore 
more  than  her  usual  expression  of  icy  pride,  which 
meant  that  she  was  more  than  usually  frightened. 
Eleanor's  lovely  face  relaxed  into  a  smile  as  she 
turned  to  the  British  Ambassador,  who  was  a  widow- 
er. He  was  a  tall,  handsome,  high-bred-looking,  el- 
derly man,  with  a  clean-shaven  face,  and  a  thin- 
lipped  mouth,  which  had  contorted  itself  into  a  grin 
on  his  first  arrival  in  Washington,  and  the  grin  had 
become  fixed  and  perpetual.  He  had  no  fortune  be- 
yond his  salary  and  pension,  he  had  rheumatism, 
liver  complaint,  nervous  dyspepsia,  chronic  bron- 
chitis, and  a  family  of  six  unmarried  daughters  and 
four  sons,  ranging  from  thirty-six  to  sixteen  years 
of  age — yet  Eleanor  Baldwin  would  have  jumped 
down  his  throat,  and  Mrs.  Hill-Smith  was  going  for 
him  with  the  stealthy  energy  of  a  cat  after  the 
cream- jug. 

Eleanor,  putting  on  a  roguish  expression  of 
countenance,  said  to  the  Ambassador: 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Hill-Smith  and  I  are  becoming  factors 
in  diplomacy!    At  our  dinner  to-night,  every  man 
[189] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
present    was   a   diplomat,   and   you  may   imagine 
what  state  secrets  were  disclosed !" 

"The  results  may  be  serious,"  replied  the  Am- 
bassador, laughing  a  little.  "We  shall  have  to  keep 
our  eyes  upon  the  American  diplomats  who  were 
present  so  as  to  find  out  how  our  secrets  were  be- 
trayed." 

"There  weren't  any  Americans  present,'*  an- 
swered Eleanor,  gaily. 

"Eh?"  said  the  Ambassador,  pretending  to  be 
deaf. 

Eleanor  repeated  her  words  a  little  louder.  There 
was  Constance  Maitland  near  enough  to  hear,  and 
like  Mrs.  Hill-Smith,  Eleanor  was  a  little  afraid  of 
Constance  Maitland,  and  also  of  Mr.  Thorndyke, 
who  had  an  uncomfortable  way  of  laughing  at  very 
serious  matters;  and  just  at  her  elbow  was  that 
queer  Castlestuart-Stuart,  who  blurted  out  things, 
such  as  not  liking  books,  which  other  people  kept  to 
themselves;  and  it  was  this  British  bull  which  now 
proceeded  to  play  havoc  in  the  china-shop. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  infantine  inno- 
cence, and  addressing  his  chief  boldly.    "It's  posi- 
tively true.     Not  a  blessed  American  man  there. 
[190] 


THINGS    NOT    TO    BE    MENTIONED 
Never  saw  such  a  thing  anywhere  in  my  life  before. 
Fancy  giving  a  dinner  in  London  to  foreign  diplo- 
mats and  not  having  an  Englishman  there — haw! 
haw!" 

Both  Eleanor  and  Mrs.  Hill-Smith  turned  pale. 
Constance  Maitland  laughed  outright ;  the  Ambas- 
sador and  Sir  Mark  le  Poer  looked  gravely  into 
each  other's  eyes,  and  telegraphed,  without  wink- 
ing, their  amusement.  Castlestuart-Stuart  kept 
on. 

"And  Hachette,  the  new  French  third  secretary, 
told  us  in  the  dressing-room  about  a  letter  he  had 
got  from  his  mother  in  Paris — terribly  strict  old 
lady.  She  said,  'You  have  written  me  about  going 
to  dinners  where  no  American  men  are  present.  You 
are  deceiving  your  old  mother.  It  is  impossible 
that  persons  such  as  you  describe  as  giving  those 
dinners  should  not  know  any  respectable  American 
men.  At  all  events,  do  not  bring  me  back  a  daugh- 
ter-in-law who  has  no  acquaintance  among  re- 
spectable men  in  her  own  country' — haw!  haw! 
haw !" 

A  flood  of  colour  poured  into  the  faces  of  Eleanor 
Baldwin  and  Mrs.  Hill-Smith.     The  Ambassador's 
[191] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
chronic  grin  had  become  a  little  broader ;  Sir  Mark 
le  Poer  was  tugging  at  his  moustache.  That  im- 
possible person,  Castlestuart-Stuart,  was  haw-haw- 
ing with  the  keenest  enjoyment.  Constance  Mait- 
land  felt  that  it  was  time  to  come  to  the  rescue  of 
her  country  even  at  the  sacrifice  of  her  country- 
women— so,  smiling  openly,  she  said  to  the  too 
truthful  Castlestuart-Stuart : 

"I  can't  blame  you  for  laughing — it  makes  all 
the  initiated  laugh.  But  you  must  see  for  yourself 
that  it  is  only  the  newest  of  the  new  who  do  such 
things.  All  people  new  to  society  do  strange 
things." 

"Never  saw  it  done  anywhere  before,  'pon  my 
soul,"  replied  this  incorrigible  Briton.  "We  have 
our  new  people  at  home — tea,  whiskey,  drapery, 
and  furniture  shops — and  rawer  than  you  can  think 
— but  they  wouldn't  dare — haw,  haw !  to  give  a  din- 
ner without  an  Englishman  at  it !" 

Constance  bit  her  lip — Castlestuart-Stuart  was 
telling  the  truth,  and  there  was  no  gainsaying  it; 
nor  could  she  offer  any  fuller  explanation  than  she 
had  already  given.  Mrs.  Hill-Smith  and  Eleanor 
Baldwin  were  glaring  at  her,  but  Constance  re- 
[192] 


THINGS  NOT  TO  BE  MENTIONED 
maincd  calm  and  unmoved.  Then  from  a  most 
unexpected  quarter  came  a  terrible  complication. 
Mince  Pie  Mulligan,  having  been  frozen  out  by  the 
Secretary  of  State  and  by  Mr.  James  Brentwood 
Baldwin,  had  been  jammed  by  the  crowd  almost 
in  Eleanor  Baldwin's  arms,  without  the  least  re- 
sistance on  his  part,  and  had  been  an  open-mouthed 
and  delighted  listener  to  Castlestuart-Stuart's  can- 
did words.  At  the  first  break  he  proceeded  to  im- 
prove his  opportunities  by  hurling  himself  into  the 
conversation,  and  looking  straight  into  Eleanor's 
eyes  the  Senator  bawled  to  Castlestuart-Stuart : 

"To  give  such  heathenish  dinners  as  you  say, 
people  have  got  not  only  to  be  new,  but  they  have 
got  to  be  blamed  fools  besides !" 

There  was  a  moment's  awful  pause,  and  then  an 
involuntary  burst  of  laughter  from  all  except  Mrs. 
Hill-Smith  and  Eleanor  Baldwin.  The  functions 
of  society  with  them  meant  deadly  serious  things, 
such  as  baking  and  washing  days  had  been  to  their 
grandmothers,  and  they  thought  one  about  as  lit- 
tle a  subject  of  a  joke  as  the  other.  Eleanor  Bald- 
win drew  herself  up,  and  looked  coldly  at  the 
British  Ambassador,  whose  mouth  had  certainly 
[193] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
grown  wider.  Mrs.  Hill-Smith,  who  was  really 
timid,  felt  frightened  to  death.  Like  Eleanor  Bald- 
win, she  had  thought  it  the  acme  of  elegance  to 
have  a  dinner  where  every  man  present  was  a  for- 
eigner and  a  diplomat,  and  secretly  regretted  that, 
from  motives  of  state,  there  always  had  to  be 
Americans  at  a  cabinet  house.  And  here  were  the 
diplomats  themselves  laughing  at  her !  It  was  ex- 
quisitely painful. 

However,  something  more  painful  still  was  in 
store  for  Eleanor  Baldwin.  Mrs.  Baldwin  ap- 
proached the  group,  and  at  sight  of  her  Mr.  Mulli- 
gan held  out  his  hand,  and  a  broad  smile  carried 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  back  to  his  ears. 

"Why,  Nora  Hogan,"  he  cried,  "it's  good  for 
sore  eyes  to  see  you.  I  haven't  seen  you  before  for 
twenty-five  years.  Jim  Baldwin  didn't  tell  me,  just 
now  when  I  was  talking  with  him,  that  you  were 
here,  and  didn't  introduce  me  to  his  daughter, 
though  I  gave  him  some  pretty  broad  hints.  Sure, 
you  know  Mike  Mulligan,  who  was  clerk  in  your 
father's  store  thirty  years  ago." 

"Certainly  I  do,  Mike,"  responded  Mrs.  Baldwin, 
calmly  and  sweetly  and  offering  her  hand.    It  was 
[194] 


THINGS    NOT    TO    BE    MENTIONED 
the  first  time   Constance  Maitland  had   ever  seen 
Mrs.  Baldwin  unbend  from  her  cold  stateliness. 

The  kindness  of  her  greeting  seemed  to  inspire 
Senator  Mulligan  with  the  greatest  enthusiasm. 

"A  better  man  than  your  father,  Dan  Hogan, 
never  lived,"  proclaimed  Mr.  Mulligan,  addressing 
the  circle,  "and  it's  the  training  I  got  with  him 
that's  made  my  fortune.  'Dale  square,  Mike,'  Dan 
Hogan  would  say — he  had  a  beautiful  brogue  on 
him — 'and  give  the  widders  and  the  orphans  the 
turn  of  the  scale  when  you're  sellin'  'em  sugar  and 
starch  and  such.'  And  I've  done  it,  Nora,  in  mem- 
ory of  good  old  Dan  Hogan — and  if  any  man  says 
it's  impossible  to  keep  a  corner  grocery  and  be  hon- 
est, I  say  to  'em — 'It's  Danny  Hogan,  it  is,  that 
was  the  honest  man  and  kept  the  corner  grocery.'  " 

Mrs.  Baldwin's  face  grew  softer  and  softer  as 
Mr.  Mulligan  proceeded.  She  was  so  great  a  lover 
of  charity  and  had  such  beautiful  humility  of  spirit 
that  the  idea  of  her  father's  example  having 
moulded  a  man  into  a  like  charity  gave  her  the  deep- 
est gratitude  and  pleasure ;  and  if  pride  had  owned 
a  lodgment  in  her  heart  she  would  have  been  proud 
at  that  moment. 

[  195  ] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
But  not  so  Eleanor,  or  Mr.  James  Brentwood 
Baldwin,  who  now  appeared  hovering  on  the  edge 
of  the  group.  Eleanor,  her  face  very  pale,  fixed  her 
eyes  on  Senator  Mulligan  with  a  haughty  stare, 
which  he  perfectly  understood,  and  resented.  A 
gleam  shot  into  his  eye  which  showed  that  he  meant 
to  pay  her  back  for  her  insolence.  Mr.  Baldwin, 
in  the  most  acute  misery,  practised  the  goose-step 
and  tried  to  stem  the  tide  of  Senator  Mulligan's  elo- 
quence. 

"Er — ah — eh — Mr.  Mulligan,  your  compliments 
to  the  late  Mr.  Daniel  Hogan  are  very  much  appre- 
ciated by  me,  as  well  as  Mrs.  Baldwin — especially 
as  I  recall  with  pleasure — what  an — er — important 
— er — factor  you  were  in  the  commerce  of  our  na- 
tive place.  For  myself,  business  has  no  real  charm 
for  me,"  continued  Mr.  Baldwin,  turning  to  the 
British  Ambassador.  "I  have  been  reasonably  suc- 
cessful, but  my  taste  always  lay  in  the  way  of 
books.  I  live  among  my  books." 

Up  to  this  time  Mr.  Mulligan  had  spoken  with  a 

very  fair  Irish  accent,  but  now  he  chose  to  lapse  into 

the  most  violent  brogue  that  ever  grew  on  the  green 

sod  of  Ireland.    This  was  accompanied  with  a  wink 

[196] 


THINGS    NOT    TO    BE    MENTIONED 
to  Constance,  which  gave  her  extreme  enjoyment, 
and  a  nudge  in  the  Ambassador's  ribs,  which  he  did 
not  in  the  least  resent. 

"Faith,  and  it's  the  way  yez  always  was,  Jim 
Baldwin,"  cried  Mince  Pie  Mulligan.  "Whin  you 
an'  me  was  luggin'  the  buckets  of  butter  an'  jugs 
of  the  most  iligant  molasses  to  th'  cushtomers,  it 
was  you,  Jim  Baldwin,  as  was  always  a-savin'  your 
tin  cints  to  buy  a  book.  An'  when  you  was  a-coort- 
in'  Dan  Hogan's  pretty  daughter,  ye'd  actually 
mourn  over  the  ice-cream  ye  filled  her  up  wid  bekase 
it  wasn't  books  wid  a  gilt  bindin' !" 

At  this  point  Mr.  Mulligan  squared  himself  off, 
and  distributed  a  general  wink  around  the  circle, 
including  Eleanor,  who  glared  at  him  like  a  basilisk. 
Mrs.  Hill-Smith  felt  acutely  for  her  dear  Eleanor, 
but,  being  secretly  consumed  with  curiosity  about 
antecedents  as  new  to  her  as  they  were  to  Constance 
Maitland,  could  not  forbear  remaining.  The  Slat- 
ers were  well  established  socially  and  financially  at 
the  time  of  Mrs.  Hill-Smith's  birth,  and  she  was  as 
innocent  of  the  phase  of  American  life  which  Sena- 
tor Mulligan  was  describing  as  if  she  had  been  born 
and  reared  in  the  royal  apartments  of  Windsor  Cas- 
[197] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
tie.  Rochefoucauld  has  said  there  is  something 
not  unpleasant  to  us  in  the  misfortunes  of  our  best 
friends — and  it  was  certainly  true  of  Mrs.  Hill- 
Smith — for  while  she  was  eyeing  Eleanor  Baldwin 
with  an  expression  of  the  tenderest  sympathy,  she 
was  inwardly  rejoicing  that  there  was  no  blot  of 
butter  or  molasses  upon  the  escutcheon  of  the  Slat- 
ers. But  a  relentless  fate  seemed  to  direct  Senator 
Mulligan's  tongue,  and  turning  to  her  the  Senator 
said,  cheerfully,  and  without  the  least  encourage- 
ment: 

"And  I'm  tould  ye  are  the  granddaughter  of 
Cap'n  Josh  Slater,  that  I  knew  like  me  ould  hat, 
when  I  was  but  la'ad,  and  he  was  Cap'n  of  the 
River  Queen,  one  o'  the  floatin'  palaces  of  the  day 
on  the  Ohio  River." 

Mrs.  Hill-Smith  trembled  a  little,  but  answered, 
coldly : 

"I  think  you  must  have  been  misinformed." 

"Well,  hardly,"  responded  Senator  Mulligan, 
blithely,  "since  it  was  your  own  father  as  tould  me, 
not  half  an  hour  ago.  I  knew  th'  ould  man  well — 
an'  he  was  an  honest  ould  cuss,  but  for  tobacco- 
chewin'  an'  bad  whiskey  ye'll  not  find  his  match  be- 
[198] 


THINGS    NOT    TO    BE    MENTIONED 

tune  here  and  the  lakes  o'  Killarney.  He  kneAv  how 
to  turn  th'  honest  pinny  though,  did  ould  man  Slat- 
er. No  givin'  of  widders  an'  orphans  the  turn  of 
the  scale,  nor  the  turn  of  a  hair  neither — he  was 
out  for  the  last  rid  cint.  He  was  a  good-lookin' 
ould  chap,  when  he  was  washed  up  and  had  on  a 
clean  shirt — and  now,  I'll  say,  I  think  you're  like 
him — raymarkably  like  him — and  it's  up  to  you  to 
prove  that  he  wasn't  your  grandfather,  begorra!" 

Had  a  bomb  with  a  burning  fuse  dropped  at  Mrs. 
Hill-Smith's  feet,  she  could  not  have  been  any  more 
astounded.  She  looked  from  Mince  Pie  Mulligan's 
laughing  face  to  Eleanor  Baldwin's,  and  then 
glanced  helplessly  around  the  circle.  It  was  im- 
possible not  to  see  that  the  British  Ambassador, 
Thorndyke,  and  the  wretched  Castlestuart-Stuart, 
who  was  primarily  responsible  for  the  whole  dread- 
ful business,  were  all  enjoying  themselves  extreme- 
ly. Constance  Maitland  alone  seemed  to  feel  some 
sympathy  for  the  unfortunates.  It  was,  however, 
chiefly  on  account  of  Mrs.  Baldwin,  who  began  to 
be  painfully  embarrassed,  that  Constance  said, 
smilingly,  to  Senator  Mulligan: 

"Your  reminiscences  are  very  interesting,  and 
[199] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
what  you  say  of  Mrs.  Baldwin's  father  must  give 
her  cause  for  honest  pride.     You  have  described  a 
phase  of  American  life  of  which  nobody  need  be 
ashamed." 

"Except  them  as  has  been  through  it,"  promptly 
responded  Senator  Mulligan.  "There's  some  things 
human  nature" — he  called  it  "natur" — "will  al- 
ways be  ashamed  of  as  long  as  it  is  human  nature. 
One  of  'em  is  that  more  people  blush  for  a  rise  in 
their  family  than  for  a  fall.  And  it  ain't  so  fool- 
ish as  it  seems;  because,  if  you  were  born  on  top 
of  the  pile,  and  all  your  people  were,  bedad,  you 
don't  do  any  of  these  outlandish  things  such  as  me 
young  friend,"  indicating  Castlestuart-Stuart, 
"has  been  tellin'  us  about.  By  the  way,"  asked 
Senator  Mulligan,  explosively,  of  the  terrible  Cas- 
tlestuart-Stuart, "who  was  it  give  the  dinner  any- 
how?" 

And  what  should  that  scion  of  aristocracy,  the 
Honourable  Edward  George  Francis  Castlestuart- 
Stuart,  do  but  answer: 

"Miss  Baldwin's  was  the  last  I  went  to — but  there 
were  plenty  of  others !" 

Ambassadors  are  not  supposed  to  laugh — but  at 
[200] 


THINGS  NOT  TO  BE  MENTIONED 
this,  the  British  Ambassador  abandoned  all  hope  of 
keeping  serious.  Constance  was  laughing  frankly, 
Thorndyke  was  in  quiet  convulsions,  Castlestuart- 
Stuart  and  Senator  Mulligan  were  exchanging 
sympathetic  grins — and  then  Eleanor  Baldwin  said, 
with  the  air  of  an  offended  queen : 

"Papa,  give  me  your  arm." 

This  Mr.  James  Brentwood  Baldwin,  with  a 
heightened  colour,  did,  but  not  before  Senator 
Mulligan  genially  remarked: 

"Well,  the  best  of  frinds  must  part,  so  here's 
good-bye  and  good-luck  to  ye,  Jim  Baldwin,  and 
I'll  say  to  you,  Miss  Baldwin,  I  hope  ye'll  live  and 
die  as  honest  as  ould  Danny  Hogan,  your  grand- 
father, and  a  better  man  never  stepped  in  shoe- 
leather;"  and  then,  turning  to  Mrs.  Hill-Smith, 
Senator  Mulligan  continued,  "I  commind  to  you 
the  example  of  your  grandfather,  Cap'n  Josh  Slat- 
er, that  I  had  the  honour  of  knowin'  and  who  always 
got  what  he  wanted,  and  was  an  agreeable  man 
enough  barrin'  the  bad  tobacco  and  mean  whiskey. 
But  in  the  polite  society  in  which  we  find  oursilves, 
in  these  dazzlin'  halls  of  light  an'  scenes  of  pothry 
an'  splendour,  both  Cap'n  Josh  Slater  an'  good 
[201] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
ould  Danny  Hogan  wud  be  about  as  much  at  home 
as  a  ham  sandwich  at  a  Jew  picnic !" 

With  these  words,  Senator  Mince  Pie  Mulligan 
bowed  himself  off,  leaving  a  great  trail  of  social 
devastation  behind  him. 


[  202  ] 


Chapter  Ten 

THERE     ARE     MEN     WHO     CAN     RESIST     EVERYTHING 
EXCEPT    TEMPTATION 

Congress  adjourned  on  the  15th  of  June,  just  two 
months  after  it  was  convened  in  extra  session. 
Thorndyke's  apprehensions  had  been  confirmed. 
Few  legislative  follies  had  been  committed — the 
House  had  gone  with  the  people,  leaving  to  the 
Senate  and  the  Administration  the  disagreeable  task 
of  stemming  the  popular  tide  as  far  as  possible, 
when  it  rushed  on  too  fast.  No  reputations  had 
been  damaged  in  either  House,  and  several  had  been 
made — but  none  to  equal  Julian  Crane's.  As  for 
Thorndyke,  the  newspapers  seemed  to  have  forgot- 
ten his  existence. 

By  the  time  adjournment  was  reached,  Washing- 
ton was  deserted.  The  class  which  is  designated  as 
"everybody"  was  either  going  or  gone.  The  out- 
going steamers  carried  half  the  town  across  the 
ocean.  Thorndyke  had  promised  himself  a  treat — • 
[203] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
a  trip  to  Europe  that  year — the  first  since  that 
long-remembered  one  which  had  settled  his  fate  in 
some  particulars  for  him.  It  was  the  first  time  in 
years  that  he  felt  he  could  afford  it,  for  he  was  a 
free-handed  man,  generous  to  his  invalid  sister,  not 
averse  to  lending  money  when  he  had  it,  and  fond  of 
giving  presents.  To  do  this  on  his  Congressional 
salary  did  not  leave  much  surplus.  This  summer, 
however,  he  concluded  he  could  take  a  three  months' 
trip.  Constance  Maitland's  return  had  not  changed 
his  determination,  because  he  felt  that  he  could  not, 
in  decency,  follow  her  wherever  her  summer  wan- 
derings might  take  her ;  and  if  he  could  not  be  with 
her,  he  would  rather,  just  then,  be  in  Europe. 

But  one  word  from  Constance,  on  the  afternoon 
when  he  went  to  bid  her  farewell,  changed  all  this 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

He  found  that  she  had  just  returned  from  a  near- 
by place  in  Virginia,  where  her  family  had  been  es- 
tablished many  generations  before  the  Louisiana 
Purchase  had  sent  them  toward  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 
Constance  was  full  of  her  Virginia  trip,  and  told 
Thorndyke  that  she  meant  to  take,  for  the  summer, 
the  old  family  place,  Malvern  Court,  at  the  foot  of 
[204] 


MEN  WHO  CAN  RESIST  EVERYTHING 
the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains,  where  many  generations 
of  dead  and  gone  Maitlands  had  lived  and  flour- 
ished, after  their  migration  from  their  first  Ameri- 
can home  on  the  shores  of  the  Chesapeake.  She 
showed  him  a  photograph  of  the  place.  It  was  an 
old  brick  manor-house,  very  tumble-down,  but  pict- 
uresque, with  noble  old  trees  around  it,  and  even  in 
the  picture  it  conveyed  a  delicious  look  of  repose. 
It  was  the  sort  of  a  place  where  nothing  startling 
had  ever  happened  except  the  Civil  War,  and  noth- 
ing ever  could  happen  again.  The  present  owner 
of  the  place,  an  elderly  maiden  lady,  "Cousin  Phil- 
lis,"  was  the  last  of  her  race.  She  had  taken  up  the 
notion  that  she  would  like  to  spend  the  summer  at 
"the  Springs,"  as  she  had  done  "in  papa's  time, 
and  grandpapa's  time;"  and  Constance,  meaning 
to  confer  a  benefit  on  her,  had  offered  to  rent  Mal- 
vern  for  the  summer  at  a  price  which  would  have 
been  dear  for  a  Newport  cottage.  The  old  lady, 
after  a  long  struggle,  had  agreed.  Constance  did 
not  tell  all  of  this,  but  Thorn  dyke  shrewdly  sus- 
pected that  the  arrangement  was  designed  to  help 
Cousin  Phillis  far  more  than  she  imagined. 

"And  Cousin  Phillis  thinks  she  is  doing  me  the 
[205] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
greatest  favour  in  the  world,  and  that  she  is  giving 
me  the  place  for  nothing,"  Constance  explained, 
smiling,  to  Thorndyke. 

Then  she  went  on  to  tell  of  her  battles  with  Cousin 
Phillis  regarding  what  was  necessary  for  the  house. 
Cousin  Phillis  could  not  conceive  that  anything 
should  be  wanting  at  Malvern  Court,  which  stood 
exactly  as  it  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  war,  minus 
forty  odd  years  of  wear  and  tear;  and  Constance 
had  only  got  the  old  lady's  consent  to  fit  up  the 
house  somewhat  according  to  modern  ideas,  by 
promising  to  remove  every  one  of  the  new-fangled 
fallals  and  gewgaws  when  she  should  give  up  the 
place.  By  hard  fighting  she  had  got  Cousin  Phillis 
to  agree  to  have  some  painting  and  papering  done, 
and  hoped  when  once  Cousin  Phillis  was  out  of  the 
way,  that  the  house  could  be  made  as  comfortable 
as  it  was  picturesque. 

It  was  two  hours  by  train  from  Washington  and 
six  miles  from  the  nearest  railway-station. 

"Will  it  not  be  very  lonely  for  you  up  there?" 
asked  Thorndyke,  smiling  at  Constance's  descrip- 
tion of  her  efforts  to  benefit  Cousin  Phillis  against 
her  wiU. 

[206] 


MEN  WHO  CAN  RESIST  EVERYTHING 
"Ah,  you  do  not  know  Virginia  cousins,"  an- 
swered Constance.  "Nobody  yet  was  ever  known 
to  want  for  company  in  Virginia.  The  two  days  I 
was  at  Malvern  it  rained  cousins.  Each  one  had  to 
be  treated  with  distinguished  consideration,  and 
after  I  had  worn  myself  out  with  civility  to  them — 
for  they  were  coming  all  day  and  half  the  night  to 
call  on  me — Cousin  Phillis  gently  intimated  to  me 
that  if  I  wasn't  more  attentive  to  my  relations  I 
might  find  myself  very  unpopular  with  them ;  and 
I  find  that  in  Virginia  to  be  unpopular  with  one's 
relations  is  to  be  an  outcast.  They  regard  me  with 
great  suspicion ;  my  Louisiana  ways  and  my  Louis- 
iana accent  only  half  please  them ;  and  they  seem 
to  think  me  a  very  forgetful  person  because  I  do 
not  remember  every  birth  and  death  in  the  family 
which  occurred  during  the  seventy  or  eighty  years 
that  the  Maitlands  have  been  established  in  Louis- 
iana. I  hope,"  she  continued,  smiling,  "that  you 
will  have  the  opportunity  to  meet  some  of  my  Vir- 
ginia cousins.  I  shall  have  a  great  many  house- 
parties  during  the  summer,  and  you  are  among  those 
I  shall  invite.  I  hope  you  may  accept." 

"I  accept  now,"  replied  Thorndyke,  and  in  a 
[207] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
breath  his  trip  to  Europe  melted  away  and  was  as 
if  it  had  never  been.     Then  Thorndyke  very  art- 
fully found  out  the  hour  of  her  departure,  which 
was  to  be  three  days  later. 

When  Constance,  on  a  warm  June  morning,  ar- 
rived at  the  station,  with  her  five  negro  servants  and 
her  household  and  personal  paraphernalia,  to  start 
for  her  summer  in  Virginia,  she  found  Thorndyke 
waiting  for  her.  In  the  station  he  had  met  Annette 
Crane,  who  had  just  seen  a  constituent  off  on  the 
train.  At  the  same  moment  they  caught  sight  of 
Constance. 

"Come,"  said  Thorndyke,  "go  with  me  and  say 
good-bye  to  Miss  Maitland.  She  is  a  real  friend 
of  yours,  and  I  know  she  will  be  glad  to  see  you  be- 
fore she  goes." 

"I  feel  that  she  is  a  real  friend,"  answered  An- 
nette. "I  never  knew  a  woman  in  whom  I  felt 
greater  confidence." 

"Constance  is  a  very  loyal  and  a  very  large-mind- 
ed woman,"  replied  Thorndyke,  absently.  He  had 
used  her  first  name  inadvertently,  and  only  became 
conscious  of  it  when  Annette  began  laughing  softly. 
Then  he  coloured  violently,  and  explained  that  he 
[208] 


MEN  WHO  CAN  RESIST  EVERYTHING 
had  lost  his  mind,  or  lost  his  manners,  or  something 
of  the  sort,  to  account  for  his  calling  Miss  Maitland 
by  her  first  name. 

They  came  upon  Constance  very  smartly  dressed, 
as  always,  and  looking  young  and  animated.  She 
was  superintending  the  tickets  and  luggage  of  her- 
self and  her  five  servants.  There  were  innumerable 
boxes  and  trunks  to  be  seen  to,  besides  a  couple  of 
traps  and  a  pair  of  horses,  and  Constance  was  do- 
ing it  vigorously,  with  Scipio  Africanus,  her 
young  butler,  and  Charles  Sumner  Pickup,  her 
coachman,  acting  as  purely  ornamental  adjuncts, 
giving  her  frequent  and  disinterested  advice  about 
the  horses,  the  trunks,  and  other  impedimenta, 
but  in  reality  being  waited  on  by  their  mistress. 
Whenever  negroes  go  on  a  journey,  they  at  once  be- 
come children,  and  are  treated  as  such  by  those  who 
understand  them.  In  a  group  stood  the  cook,  an 
elderly,  respectable  negro  woman,  dressed  in  black, 
with  the  stamp  of  "fo'  de  war"  written  all  over  her 
honest  black  face,  and  a  housemaid  and  a  lady's 
maid,  both  chocolate  coloured. 

Whenever  Thorndyke  had  observed  Constance's 
servants  before,  they  had  been  dressed  with  entire 
[209] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

correctness — but  on  this  occasion  they  had  evident- 
ly been  allowed  complete  latitude.  The  two  maids 
wore  the  shortest  of  short  skirts,  with  violent-col- 
oured shirtwaists.  They  had  on  hats  exactly  alike 
— large  picture-hats  of  white,  with  wreaths  of  red 
roses.  The  same  riot  of  colour  had  broken  out  on 
Scipio  Africanus  and  Charles  Sumner  Pickup. 
Scipio  sported  a  scarf-pin  composed  of  two  United 
States  flags  crossed,  while  Charles  Sumner  Pickup 
carried  a  cane  from  the  handle  of  which  fluttered 
red,  white,  and  blue  ribbons.  The  cook,  who  was 
plainly  an  ante-bellum  product,  had  donned,  for 
the  journey,  an  immense  crape  veil,  which  dangled 
to  the  ground,  and  implied  that  she  was  in  the  first 
stages  of  widowhood.  As  a  fact,  she  had  "planted 
her  ole  man,"  in  the  Afro-American  vernacular, 
about  thirty  years  before,  but  at  intervals  since,  she 
had  adorned  herself  with  the  crape  veil,  as  a  dissi- 
pation in  dress  akin  to  the  maids'  wreaths  of  red 
roses,  and  the  butler  and  coachman's  assumption  of 
the  national  colours. 

Thorndyke,  on  reaching  Constance's  side,  prof- 
fered his  assistance,  but  his  offer  was  promptly  re- 
pulsed. 

[210] 


MEN    WHO     CAN    RESIST    EVERYTHING 

"How  on  earth  would  you  manage  five  negroes  ?" 
she  asked.  "You  would  lose  your  patience  in  five 
minutes — you  do  not  know  what  they  know  or  what 
they  do  not  know.  I  think  I  have  everything 
straight  now — I  will  keep  the  tickets  myself" — and 
then,  escorted  by  Thorn  dyke,  she  saw  her  five 
charges  and  the  horses,  the  traps,  and  the  trunks  in 
their  proper  cars,  and,  sending  Thorndyke  after 
Annette  Crane,  herself  took  her  place  in  the  draw- 
ing-room car  for  her  two  hours'  trip. 

When  Annette  stepped  in  the  car  to  spend  ten 
minutes  with  her,  Constance  was  sincerely  glad. 
She  felt  a  strong  and  strange  sympathy  with  An- 
nette Crane.  Never  were  women  more  dissimilar  in 
type,  in  environment,  in  ideas,  than  those  two  wom- 
en; but  both  were  gentlewomen  of  sense  and  right 
feeling,  and  on  that  common  ground  they  met  and 
became  friends. 

Constance  expressed  a  wish  that  Mrs.  Crane 
might  be  in  Washington  the  next  winter,  and  An- 
nette quietly  replied  that  she  expected  to  be. 

Thorndyke  then  began  telling  her  of  his  amuse- 
ment  at  watching    Constance,   with  five   servants, 
working  like  a  Trojan  for  them. 
[211] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

"Of  course,  you,  with  your  cool  Northern  tem- 
perament, cannot  understand  the  negro,"  replied 
Constance,  good-humouredly.  "You  would  expect 
a  negro  to  work  when  he  could  help  it.  What  a  de- 
lusion !  Suppose  I  had  trusted  Scipio  or  Charles  to 
buy  those  tickets  and  get  those  horses  aboard,  and 
meanwhile  a  street-band  had  come  along?" 

"I  suppose  Scipio  or  Charles  would  have  got  the 
tickets  and  attended  to  the  horses  just  the  same," 
answered  Thorndyke. 

"Do  you?  That  shows  your  utter  density  re- 
garding Scipio  and  Charles.  I  daresay  you 
thought  it  very  amusing  that  I  should  work  for  my 
servants." 

"I  did." 

"They  work  for  me  when  I  want  them  and  make 
them — that  is,  they  work  in  a  certain  way — their 
way.  And  I  suppose  you  would  have  that  United 
States  flag  pin  off  Scipio's  bosom  and  that  cane 
with  the  red,  white,  and  blue  ribbons  out  of  Charles's 
hand  if  you  were  travelling  to  Newport  with  them." 

"I  am  afraid  I  should." 

"And  you  could  not  stand  the  wreaths  of  red 
roses  on  the  hats  of  my  two  maids?" 
[212] 


MEN    WHO     CAN    RESIST    EVERYTHING 

"I  am  quite  sure  I  couldn't." 

"Then,  Mr.  Thorndyke,  stop  legislating  for  the 
negroes,  because  you  know  nothing  about  them." 

"I  admit,"  said  Thorndyke,  "that  the  patience 
and  indulgence  of  Southerners  toward  negroes  has 
always  amazed  and  charmed  me.  But  I  believe  the 
negro  would  be  better  off  if  he  were  made  to  assume 
greater  responsibilities." 

"Go  to.    Can  the  Ethiopian  change  his  skin  ?" 

Just  then,  Mr.  James  Brentwood  Baldwin  and 
Eleanor  sauntered  into  the  state-room  of  the  car. 
They  were  to  join  a  yachting  party  at  Old  Point 
Comfort.  They  spoke  distantly  and  coolly  to  both 
Constance  and  Thorndyke — the  memory  of  Sena- 
tor Mince  Pie  Mulligan's  candid  praise  of  "ould 
Danny  Hogan  at  th'  corner  grocery"  was  still  a 
green  and  smarting  wound  in  their  breasts. 

Mr.  Baldwin's  English  valet  and  Eleanor's 
French  maid  were  doing  everything  possible  for  the 
comfort  of  their  master  and  mistress  and  with  per- 
fect intelligence.  Thorndyke  smilingly  indicated 
it,  but  Constance  shook  her  head. 

"I  am  always  hearing  complaints  about  French 
and  English  servants  in  this  country,  but  we  who 
[213] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
are  accustomed  to  negro  servants  never  complain  of 
them." 

"Because  you  never  require  anything  of  them; 
however,"  added  Thorndyke,  "I'll  admit  there  seems 
to  be  a  comfortable  sort  of  arrangement  between 
you.  It  would  drive  any  but  Southern  people  mad, 
but  you  don't  seem  to  mind  it." 

Then  Constance,  turning  to  Annette,  said  she 
would  be  so  glad  if  she  and  Mr.  Crane  would  pay 
her  a  visit  during  the  summer.  Annette's  eyes 
sparkled;  it  was  a  distinct  triumph  for  her,  be- 
cause she  knew,  and  knew  that  Crane  knew,  that  he 
never  would  have  been  asked  but  for  her.  She 
thanked  Constance  warmly,  but  said  she  was  afraid 
it  was  impossible — she  never  went  away  from  Cir- 
cleville  in  summer;  and  Constance,  seeing  longing 
in  Thorndyke's  eye,  repeated  her  invitation  to  him, 
and  made  his  middle-aged  heart  beat  fast  by  doing 
it ;  and  then  it  was  time  to  go,  and  the  train  pulled 
out,  and  Constance  was  gone. 

Thorndyke  put  Annette  on  her   suburban  car, 

and  walked  back  to  his  lodgings,  through  the  hot, 

bright  streets — hot  and  bright  in  spite  of  the  lush 

greenness  of  the  shade.     But  the  day  had  turned 

[214] 


MEN  WHO  CAN  RESIST  EVERYTHING 
lead  coloured  to  him ;  and  although  there  were  still 
plenty  of  persons  in  town,  and  the  capital  was 
seething,  for  it  was  yet  some  days  before  adjourn- 
ment, Thorndyke  felt  as  if  the  whole  town  were 
silent  and  deserted. 

The  presence  of  Constance  Maitland  made  any 
place  full  for  Geoffrey  Thorndyke,  and  her  ab- 
sence made  a  desert  to  him.  He  contrasted  in  his 
own  mind  his  feelings  of  to-day  and  of  a  year  ago. 
Then,  he  had  reached  a  kind  of  dull  acquiescence 
in  fate,  or  thought  he  had.  Despairing  of  forget- 
ting Constance,  he  had  learned  to  endure  quietly 
the  poignant  pain  of  remembering  her,  and  in  de- 
fault of  all  else  in  life  to  interest  him  he  had  thrown 
his  whole  soul  and  being  into  politics.  Now,  the 
sound  of  Constance  Maitland's  voice,  the  touch  of 
her  hand,  was  always  with  him,  and  had  turned  an 
otherwise  dull  and  prosaic  world  into  a  region  of 
splendid  tumult  and  delicious  agitations,  for  he 
would  not  have  gone  back  to  his  past  state  for  any- 
thing on  earth.  Constance  had  a  deep  regard  for 
him — of  that  there  could  be  no  doubt.  She  com- 
manded his  society  whenever  she  could ;  she  exerted 
herself  to  please  and  flatter  him;  and  he  accepted 
[  215  ] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
it  as  a  man  drinks  water  in  the  desert,  not  analys- 
ing it,  but  exulting  in  it.  Even  those  frequent  sea- 
sons when  he  called  himself  a  blankety-blank  fool 
were  not  devoid  of  enjoyment — at  least,  it  was  not 
stagnation.  He  yearned  after  a  million  or  so  of 
money,  that  he  might  lay  at  Constance's  feet,  and 
ask  her  to  throw  away  the  fortune  that  stood  be- 
tween them,  but  he  was  too  sound  and  sane  a  man 
to  imagine  that  he  would  ever  be  a  rich  man.  Poli- 
tics had  by  no  means  lost  its  interest  for  him,  but 
rather  had  it  gained — that  at  least  was  something 
to  give  him  value  in  Constance's  eyes.  As  for  that 
bare  possibility  of  the  senatorship  two  years  hence, 
in  the  event  that  Senator  Standiford  should  retire, 
Thorndyke  regarded  it  as  an  iridescent  dream.  He 
did  not  believe  that  Senator  Standiford  would  re- 
tire. He  heard  no  more  of  Letty  Standi  ford's  del- 
icate health,  or  the  Senator's,  either.  Letty  was 
rushing  about  Washington  in  an  automobile,  hello- 
ing at  young  gentlemen  on  the  street,  and  doing 
many  loud,  unnecessary,  and  innocent  things  which 
require  much  nervous  energy  and  lung-power.  The 
Senator  himself  gave  no  indications  of  ill-health 
and  fatigue.  In  Washington  he  led  a  life  as  reg- 
[216] 


MEN  WHO  CAN  RESIST  EVERYTHING 
ular  and  temperate  as  that  of  a  boarding-school 
miss,  but  when  local  elections  were  impending,  or 
a  national  convention  was  on  hand,  Thorndyke  had 
known  the  old  gentleman  to  go  for  a  fortnight  at  a 
time  almost  without  eating  or  sleeping,  and  then 
come  out  looking  as  fresh  as  a  daisy.  So  Thorn- 
dyke  was  a  little  sceptical  about  his  boss's  possible 
retirement  from  the  field,  and  took  it  that  the  Sena- 
tor had  been  trying  some  sort  of  an  intellectual 
bunco  game  upon  him. 

When  the  adjournment  of  Congress  was  reached, 
Thorndyke  took  the  first  train  to  his  northern  home. 
It  was  a  comfortable  old  place,  on  the  skirts  of  an 
old  colonial  town  left  high  and  dry  among  more 
progressive  places ;  but  shady,  serene,  and  comfort- 
able in  the  extreme.  Here,  in  the  house  where  he  and 
his  father  and  his  grandfather  and  great-grand- 
father were  born,  Thorndyke's  summers  were  spent 
with  his  sister  Elizabeth,  a  gentle,  sweet-faced 
creature,  who  had  not  walked  for  many  years,  but 
whose  mind  and  hands  were  busy  doing  such  good  as 
lay  in  their  reach. 

Down  in  the  town  before  a  wooden  one-story  of- 
fice with  a  porch,  hung  a  battered  tin  sign,  which 
[217] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
had  been  repaired  and  repainted  twenty  times  since 
first,  in  Geoffrey  Thorndyke's  grandfather's  time, 
it  had  borne  the  legend,  "Geoffrey  Thorndyke, 
Counsellor  at  Law."  Thorndyke  still  kept  the 
dingy  little  office  which  had  been  his  grandfather's 
and  his  father's  before  him.  He  had  given  up  the 
best  of  his  law-practice  at  the  time  that  he  had 
been  thrown  down  and  securely  roped  for  Congress 
by  Senator  Standif  ord  and  his  trusty  cowboys,  the 
State  Committeemen,  but  had  always  clung  to  the 
old  law-office  as  a  refuge  in  case  Senator  Standif  ord 
should  relegate  him  to  private  life.  Although  he 
had  been  compelled  to  abandon  the  active  and  con- 
tinuous practice  of  his  profession — for  according  to 
the  old  axiom,  "The  law  is  a  jealous  mistress" — 
Thorndyke  remained  a  student  of  law.  He  was  by 
nature  and  training  a  very  considerable  lawyer,  and 
his  legal  acquirements  had  helped  to  win  for  him 
the  high  and  steady  position  he  held  in  the  House  of 
Representatives.  He  was  not  a  leader  of  men,  but 
rather  a  thinker  and  adviser,  and  was  proud  of  the 
somewhat  scornful  appellation  of  "the  scholar  in 
politics." 

In  his  quiet  summer  home,  among  his  few  shabby 
[218] 


MEN  WHO  CAN  RESIST  EVERYTHING 
books — which,  unlike  Mr.  James  Brentwood  Bald- 
win, he  read  diligently,  and  never  thought  to  men- 
tion that  he  lived  among  them — Thorndyke  spent 
his  placid  summers.  He  read  much,  and  observed 
a  great  deal.  He  was  close  to  the  border  of  Crane's 
State,  and  their  congressional  districts  were  con- 
tiguous, and  naturally  Thorndyke  knew  the  polit- 
ical happenings  across  the  border. 

In  all  his  experience  of  men,  Thorndyke  had 
never  watched  with  the  same  interest  the  develop- 
ment of  a  man  in  his  public  and  private  life  as  he 
watched  Julian  Crane's.  He  saw  the  good  and  the 
evil  struggling  together  in  Crane,  and  had  not  yet 
found  out  which  was  fundamental. 

Crane,  with  Annette  and  the  two  children,  had 
returned  to  Circleville  immediately  after  the  ad- 
journment of  Congress,  and  immediately,  on  reach- 
ing home,  he  had  been  beset  with  a  temptation, 
against  which  he  had  made  a  short,  hard  fight,  and 
then  was  conquered,  and  gave  up  all  the  honesty  of 
his  soul  as  regards  politics.  One  week  after  his  re- 
turn to  Circleville,  he  had  received  overtures  for 
peace  from  Governor  Sanders,  and  a  meeting  be- 
tween them  had  been  arranged. 
[219] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

It  took  place  in  a  neighbouring  city,  in  the  pri- 
vate parlour  of  a  hotel.  The  two  men  were  entirely 
alone.  Sanders,  a  bull-dog  of  a  man,  came  out 
frankly  and  told  Crane  that,  by  the  cutthroat  pol- 
icy they  were  pursuing,  they  were  simply  playing 
into  Senator  Bicknell's  hands,  and  depriving  the 
State  of  its  just  weight  with  the  National  Commit- 
tee in  the  year  of  a  Presidential  convention.  His 
proposition  was  a  large  one,  but  was  put  in  a  few 
words.  The  Governor  began  by  freely  admitting 
that  Crane  had  got  the  best  of  him  in  the  matter 
of  the  senatorial  appointment — the  politicians  were 
agreed  on  that.  But  all  men  make  blunders,  and 
Governor  Sanders  proposed  to  atone  for  the  blun- 
der he  had  made  about  the  senatorship  by  joining 
forces  with  Crane  instead  of  opposing  him  further. 
It  was  plain  that  there  was  a  strong  revolt  against 
Senator  Bicknell,  and  a  split  was  inevitable  among 
the  chiefs  as  soon  as  the  Legislature  met,  which 
would  elect  a  senator.  When  this  break  came,  new 
alignments  must  be  made,  and  Governor  Sanders 
believed  and  said  that  if  he  and  Crane  should  join 
forces  they  could  oust  Senator  Bicknell  and  get 
control  of  the  machine. 


MEN  WHO  CAN  RESIST  EVERYTHING 
At  the  mention  of  Senator  Bicknell's  name,  Crane 
changed  countenance,  and  mumbled  something 
about  his  political  obligations  to  the  Senator.  San- 
ders met  this  by  saying  that  it  was  his  opinion,  if 
Senator  Bicknell  were  not  ousted,  there  would  be 
grave  danger  that  the  party  would  lose  the  State  at 
the  next  election ;  and,  in  any  event,  there  must  be  a 
new  arrangement  of  forces,  and  he  was  simply  pro- 
posing to  take  advantage  of  the  inevitable.  He 
then  went  on  to  explain  briefly  his  plan.  The  pro- 
tocols must  provide  that  Governor  Sanders  should 
throw  all  his  strength  toward  getting  Crane  the 
party  nomination  for  the  short  senatorial  term  in 
January,  and  second  Crane's  efforts  to  succeed 
himself.  In  return,  Crane  was  to  devote  all  his 
energies  toward  securing  the  Governor's  election 
two  years  hence  to  succeed  Senator  Bicknell.  Mean- 
while, Senator  Bicknell  was  nursing  a  very  robust 
and  promising  Vice-presidential  boom,  which  must, 
of  course,  be  strangled  in  the  cradle.  Nothing 
must  be  heard  of  it  at  the  next  Presidential  conven- 
tion a  year  hence ;  but  four  years  hence,  when  both 
Crane  and  Sanders  would  be  in  the  Senate,  it  would 
be  time  enough  to  decide  which  one  would  strive  for 
[221] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
it.  The  geographical  position  of  the  State  and  the 
uncertainty  of  the  elections  for  many  years  past 
would  put  them  in  a  very  good  strategic  position 
either  to  capture  the  Vice-presidential  nomination 
or  to  dictate  it  to  the  convention ;  and  that  was  a 
prize  which  could  be  held  in  reserve. 

The  success  of  the  whole,  however,  depended  upon 
keeping  Senator  Bicknell  in  the  dark,  for  although 
he  had  not  displayed  the  qualities  of  a  truly  great 
boss,  like  Senator  Standiford,  yet  he  was  a  man  of 
considerable  force,  well  liked,  a  gentleman,  and  a 
favourite  in  his  party.  If  he  suspected  the  plotting 
of  an  insurrection  against  him,  he  might  in  two 
years'  time  overthrow  it  completely;  but  he  was  an 
unsuspicious  man — a  bad  thing  in  a  boss — and 
could  be  easily  deluded  into  believing  that  no  effort 
was  necessary  on  his  part  to  hold  his  own.  For 
that  reason,  the  warfare  between  Sanders  and  Crane 
should  be  ostensibly  kept  up.  Especially  must  this 
be  the  case  in  selecting  delegates  to  the  National 
Convention.  Senator  Bicknell's  aspirations  for  the 
Vice-presidential  nomination  must  be  frosted  on  the 
apparent  ground  of  dissensions  among  the  leaders 
in  the  State — but  as  soon  as  the  election  was  over 


MEN  WHO  CAN  RESIST  EVERYTHING 
they  could  come  together  and  have  four  years'  ami- 
cable struggle  to  prove  whether  Sanders  or  Crane 
should  be  seriously  put  forward  for  the  Vice-presi- 
dential nomination  five  years  hence. 

Crane  listened  to  this  nefarious  scheme  with  dis- 
gust— a  disgust  in  which  a  great  longing  was 
strangely  and  violently  mingled.  Every  word  that 
Sanders  said  was  true;  Crane  knew  that  perfectly 
well.  The  machine  was  going  to  pieces — there  could 
be  no  doubt  of  that — and  Crane,  with  accurate 
knowledge  of  conditions,  saw  that  the  Governor's 
plan,  although  far-reaching,  was  quite  practicable. 
The  whole  thing,  however,  hinged  upon  keeping 
Senator  Bicknell  in  the  dark.  If  it  had  been  a  free, 
fair  fight,  the  Governor  and  himself  might  be 
worsted.  Senator  Bicknell  might  be  considered  the 
founder  of  Crane's  political  fortunes,  and  had  cer- 
tainly treated  him  with  great  kindness,  and  had 
procured  his  advancement ;  but  then,  it  was  a  ques- 
tion whether  the  great  law  of  necessity  would  not 
compel  Crane  to  go  with  Sanders.  Senator  Bicknell 
would  not,  if  he  could,  ruin  Crane,  but  Governor 
Sanders  was  fully  capable  of  it,  and  would,  if  he 
could.  Indeed,  Sanders  conveyed  as  much. 
[223] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
"Of  course,"  he  said,  carelessly,  as  he  lighted  a 
cigar,  "you  would  have  to  be  very  circumspect  in 
every  way  from  now  on.  Voters,  you  know,  are 
easily  offended.  As  a  matter  of  business,  purely,  I 
shall  mention  to  you  that  there  has  been  some  talk 
about  your  leaving  your  wife  at  home  during  your 
time  spent  in  Washington.  I  have  heard  that, 
except  for  the  short  visit  she  paid  you  during  the 
extra  session,  she  has  not  been  there  since  the  first 
session  at  which  you  took  your  seat.  Of  course, 
everybody  knows  that  it  is  all  straight  between  you, 
but  it  was  a  mistake  on  your  part,  just  the  same. 
It  will  give  your  enemies  a  handle  against  you." 

Crane  grew  pale.  How  strange  it  was  that  in  all 
those  years  he  had  never  been  conscious  of  the  su- 
preme folly  of  his  behaviour !  It  had  not  once  oc- 
curred to  him  until  that  evening  in  Washington, 
hardly  more  than  a  month  ago ! 

"Mrs.  Crane  remained  by  choice  in  Circleville 
on  account  of  the  children,"  replied  Crane,  "and 
because  my  salary  as  a  congressman  doesn't  admit 
of  my  having  my  family  there  as  I  would  wish — 
particularly  as  I  had  some  debts  to  pay,  and  my 
house  in  Circleville  has  a  mortgage  on  it." 


MEN  WHO  CAN  RESIST  EVERYTHING 
"Oh,  I  understand  perfectly,  Mr.  Crane.  All  of 
us  who  know  you  do.  I  was  not  speaking  of  the 
views  of  your  friends,  but  of  your  enemies,  on  the 
subject.  However,  if  money  is  the  consideration,  I 
think  I  could  guarantee  your  senatorial  term  in 
good  style;  nothing  extravagant,  you  know,  but 
enough  to  put  your  mind  at  ease.  Your  notes, 
with  my  indorsement,  would  be  accepted  at  any 
bank  in  the  State,  and  the  matter  could  be  kept 
quiet." 

It  was  the  old  story — making  chains  out  of  his 
necessities.  And  they  were  very  great.  Crane 
spoke  of  paying  his  debts.  He  had  scarcely  made 
any  reduction  in  the  principal,  and  had  only  suc- 
ceeded in  paying  the  interest — which,  with  his  liv- 
ing expenses,  of  which  his  own  were  twice  as  much 
as  Annette's  and  the  children's,  and  his  small  life- 
insurance,  had  galloped  away  with  his  five  thousand 
a  year.  And  if  he  should  lose  the  nomination — 
there  was  not  much  danger  of  that  now,  but  every- 
thing was  possible  with  a  machine  and  a  man  like 
Governor  Sanders. 

Crane's  better  nature,  however,  rebelled  against 
the   deceit  to   be   practised   on    Senator   Bicknell. 
[225] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
That  he  declared  he  could  never  bring  himself  to 
— and  believed  it  at  the  moment. 

"Then,"  said  Governor  Sanders,  rising,  "we 
may  conclude  our  conference.  The  entire  success 
of  the  campaign  I  have  mapped  out  depends  upon 
Senator  Bicknell  not  being  taken  into  our  confi- 
dence. We  are  not  proposing  anything  against  the 
party;  we  are  simply  proposing  to  do  for  our- 
selves what  Senator  Bicknell  has  done  for  himself; 
and  if  things  go  on  as  they  have  been  going  under 
his  direction,  I  think  we  stand  an  excellent  chance 
of  losing  the  State  at  the  Presidential  election." 

Before  Crane's  ardent  mind  loomed  a  vision. 
Six  years  in  Washington  as  a  Senator — and  he  was 
not  yet  forty -three  years  old;  living  in  good  style, 
and  then,  the  chance,  not  a  bad  one  by  any  means, 
of  the  Vice-presidential  nomination  in  a  little  over 
four  years.  It  was  a  glorious  vista.  Like  the 
Arabian  glass-seller,  his  imagination  far  out- 
stripped itself.  He  saw  himself,  at  forty-eight, 
Vice-president,  at  fifty-two,  another  term,  at  fifty- 
six,  still  in  the  Senate,  with  a  great  reputation — 
even  the  Presidency  did  not  seem  beyond  him.  He 
had  the  enormous  advantage  of  youth  over  most 
[226] 


MEN  WHO  CAN  RESIST  EVERYTHING 
of  his  rivals.  A  Vice-president  stands  one  chance 
in  three  and  a  half  of  succeeding  to  the  Presidency 
— altogether,  it  was  a  dazzling  dream — so  dazzling 
that  Crane  began  to  feel  the  old  regret  and  long- 
ing that  Fate  had  not  given  him  a  wife  like  Con- 
stance Maitland;  he  was  afraid  even,  in  thought, 
to  wish  that  it  might  be  Constance  Maitland. 
How  that  woman  would  shine  in  an  official  posi- 
tion! And  then,  the  other  side — but  there  was  no 
other  side.  Without  Sanders's  help,  he  would  have 
a  desperate  fight  before  the  Legislature;  and  that 
outlook  which  had  seemed  so  rosy  when  he  de- 
scribed it  to  Constance  Maitland  in  her  drawing- 
room  a  few  months  before,  grew  dismal  and  grue- 
some when  examined  in  parlour  number  20  of  the 
Grand  Hotel.  If  defeated  for  the  senatorship, 
and  under  the  ban  of  Governor  Sanders,  his  seat, 
a  year  hence,  would  be  certainly  doubtful,  and  if 
the  machine  ran  over  him  it  meant  annihilation. 
So,  tempted  of  the  devil,  Crane  yielded,  and  prom- 
ised everything  the  Governor  required. 

As  the  Governor  had  found  him  an  uncertain 
quantity  before,  there  were  due  precautions  taken 
to  keep  him  in  the  traces  this  time,  by  veiled 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
threats  of  what  would  befall  him  if  he  kicked  them 
over  a  second  time.  Crane  understood  perfectly 
well.  He  also  realised  that  there  were  two  men 
under  his  skin — one,  honest  and  loving  the  truth, 
and  the  other,  craving  money  and  power  and  con- 
sideration, tormented  with  vanity,  enslaved  by 
self-love,  a  fierce  and  hideous  object  to  contem- 
plate. But  he  need  not  contemplate  it;  and  with 
this  determination  he  took  a  friendly  cocktail 
with  the  Governor,  and  departed  for  Circleville. 
That  hint  about  his  wife  opened  Crane's  eyes  to 
the  necessity  of  the  outward  practice  of  virtue,  and 
he  then  determined  to  compass,  as  far  as  in  him  lay, 
the  whole  comprehensive  sin  of  hypocrisy.  He 
would  be  very  attentive  to  his  wife  and  devoted 
to  his  children.  He  would  go  to  church  regularly. 
He  would  adopt  a  Cincinnatus-like  mode  of  life, 
that  out  of  his  small  means  he  might  contribute  to 
charity  and  have  it  known  by  the  special  corre- 
spondents. In  short,  he  proposed  to  become  that 
object  of  man's  hate  and  God's  wrath,  a  hypocrite. 


[228] 


Chapter  Eleven 

IN     THE     SWEET-DO-NOTHING     OF     THE     SUMMER- 
TIME 

Straightway,  Crane  began  a  hypocritical  mode  of 
life,  and  deceived  everybody  in  the  world  except 
the  two  most  necessary  to  deceive — himself  and  his 
wife. 

He  did  not  deceive  himself.  There  was  enough 
of  honesty  in  him  to  make  him  loathe  himself, 
while  doggedly  carrying  out  the  devil's  pro- 
gramme, into  which  he  had  entered  with  Governor 
Sanders.  As  he  went  to  church  on  summer  Sun- 
days, with  Annette  by  his  side  and  the  two  children 
trotting  soberly  in  front  of  them,  Crane  felt  as 
if  a  bolt  from  heaven  ought  to  descend  upon  him 
for  his  treachery  to  the  man  who  had  befriended 
him.  Sitting  in  the  cool,  dim  church,  his  head 
devoutly  bowed  as  if  in  prayer,  he  doubted  that 
[229] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
there  was  a  personal  God ;  for  if  so,  how  could  He 
tolerate  such  blasphemy  as  a  man  praying,  to  be 
seen  of  men ;  giving,  to  be  published  in  the  news- 
papers, and  saying  to  his  brother,  "How  is  it  with 
thee,  my  brother?"  and  then  stabbing  him  in  the 
back? 

At  one  thing,  the  evil  spirit  within  him  shud- 
dered and  turned  away.  This  was  when  he  had  a 
very  friendly  letter  from  Senator  Bicknell,  say- 
ing he  should  be  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Circle- 
ville  in  the  next  fortnight,  and  if  convenient  he 
would  accept  Crane's  often-urged  invitation  to  stop 
and  spend  a  day  at  his  house. 

The  idea  of  receiving  under  his  roof  the  man  he 
had  betrayed  was  too  much  for  Crane.  Enough 
moral  sense  remained  in  him  to  make  him  shrink 
from  that.  He  wrote  Senator  Bicknell  a  very 
friendly  and  even  affectionate  letter  explaining 
that  important  business  would  take  him  away  from 
home  for  that  week,  and  expressing  the  deepest  re- 
gret that  he  could  not  have  the  long-promised  visit. 
And  forthwith,  on  the  promised  day,  Crane  made 
an  excuse  of  business,  and  went  speeding  toward 
the  nearest  city.  He  said  no  word  to  Annette  about 
[230] 


IN    THE    SWEET-DO-NOTHING 

his  letter  from  Senator  Bicknell,  but  some  suspi- 
cion of  the  actual  state  of  things  had  crept  into  her 
mind.  She  knew  that  Crane  was  under  obligations 
to  Senator  Bicknell,  and  a  close  reading  of  the 
newspapers  had  shown  her  that  Crane  and  Gov- 
ernor Sanders  were  supposed  to  be  mortal  enemies. 
Yet,  she  knew  that  the  Governor  and  Crane  were  in 
the  most  friendly  communication,  while  Crane  had 
ceased  to  mention  Senator  Bicknell's  name.  And 
some  anxiety  was  weighing  upon  him — that  she  saw 
plainly.  She  saw  that  Crane  was  prosperous,  that 
he  was  rising  in  importance  every  day,  and. yet 
was  miserable.  He  had  grown  thin  and  pale  in 
those  few  weeks  since  he  had  entered  into  his  evil 
compact.  It  could  not  be  want  of  money,  because 
Annette  had  never  known  him  to  be  so  well  sup- 
plied. She  began  to  suspect  some  moral  lapse  on 
his  part,  and  the  thought  nearly  broke  her  heart 
— for  Julian  Crane  was  the  love  of  her  life ;  and 
she  loved  him  in  his  degradation  as  profoundly  as 
in  the  time  when  she  had  believed  him  to  be  the  soul 
of  honour. 

A  singular  complication  came  of  Senator  Bick- 
nell's  letter.     He  did  not  get  Crane's  in  reply,  and 
[231] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
on  the  day  he  had  proposed  to  be  in  Circleville  he 
found  himself  at  the  little  station.  There  was  no 
one  to  meet  him,  but  it  was  easy  enough  to  find  the 
way  to  Crane's  house — he  was  the  local  great  man 
of  Circleville. 

When  he  reached  the  house,  with  its  many  veran- 
das, embowered  in  fine  and  vigorous  elm-trees,  the 
front  door  was  wide  open,  and  looking  through  the 
low,  wide  hall,  he  could  see  the  garden  beyond. 
There,  under  a  tall  lilac  hedge,  sat  Annette  in  a 
rustic  chair,  sewing.  On  a  rustic  table  before  her 
the  children  had  their  books,  and  took  turns  read- 
ing aloud  to  her.  As  always,  she  was  simply  but 
freshly  and  becomingly  dressed,  and  as  the  green 
light  fell  upon  her  fair  hair  and  her  pensive,  pretty 
face,  she  made  a  charming  picture  for  any  man  to 
contemplate.  Senator  Bicknell  had  an  aesthetic 
soul  as  well  as  an  honest  heart,  and  the  pretty  scene 
appealed  to  him.  He  walked  through  the  hall,  into 
the  trim  garden,  and,  hat  in  hand,  introduced  him- 
self to  Annette. 

She  rose  at  once,  smiling  and  blushing,  and  made 
him  hospitably  welcome.     She  knew  nothing  of  his 
expected  arrival,  which  convinced  Senator  Bicknell 
[232] 


IN    THE    SWEET-DO-NOTHING 

that  there  had  been  some  misunderstanding  con- 
cerning his  letter.  But  the  Senator  was  so  pleased 
with  his  first  impressions  that  he  accepted  Annette's 
invitation  to  remain  and  share  their  one-o'clock 
dinner — an  invitation  given  with  palpitations,  but 
so  promptly  and  gracefully  accepted  that  Annette 
was  delighted  at  her  own  courage  in  proposing  it. 
The  Senator,  seated  on  a  rustic  settee,  and  admir- 
ing the  aspect  of  things  in  the  house  and  garden, 
as  well  as  the  mistress  and  her  children,  thought 
himself  in  luck.  He  expressed  great  regret  at  not 
seeing  Crane,  but  frankly  declared  himself  very 
well  satisfied  with  things  as  they  were. 

Emboldened  by  her  success  in  entertaining  the 
Senator,  Annette  proposed  that  she  should  notify 
the  leading  citizens,  and  invite  them  to  call  at  five 
o'clock  to  pay  their  respects  to  him.  Senator  Bick- 
nell  good-humouredly  assented — it  would  be  of  ad- 
vantage to  Crane,  he  thought,  mistakenly  enough 
— and  it  was  worth  while  obliging  a  subordinate  if 
that  subordinate  had  a  wife  as  pleasing  as  Mrs. 
Crane. 

By  the  time  this  was  settled  it  was  one  o'clock, 
and  the  Senator  found  himself  seated  at  Annette's 
[233] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
dainty    table,   with   the    two    children,  and   being 
waited  on  by  Annette's  one  servant,  a  neat,  hard- 
featured  creature,  who  knew  how  to  cook. 

The  Senator  was  worth  millions,  had  a  French 
chef,  and  a  chronic  dyspepsia,  but  he  spoke  truly 
when  he  told  Annette  he  had  not  enjoyed  a  dinner 
so  much  in  years  as  the  one  she  gave  him.  It  was 
very  simple,  but  good,  and  well  served.  The  chil- 
dren never  opened  their  mouths  except  when 
spoken  to.  Annette  was  surprised,  as  at  Constance 
Maitland's  dinner,  to  find  herself  altogether  at 
ease,  and  was  conscious  that  she  was  making  an 
agreeable  impression  every  moment  of  the  time. 
To  be  appreciated  gives  the  most  timid  confidence ; 
and  it  was  perfectly  evident  that  this  trained 
man  of  the  world  appreciated  this  woman,  as  sweet 
and  natural  as  the  wild  roses  that  grew  in  the  road- 
side hedges.  They  found  much  to  talk  about,  and 
Thorndyke  was  mentioned,  at  which  Annette  over- 
flowed in  praises  of  him,  to  which  Senator  Bicknell 


He  was  much  amused  by  Annette's  impromptu 
plan    of  having  a  reception    for   him  that  after- 
noon, and  accused  her  of  aspiring  to  be  a  second 
[  234  ] 


IN    THE    SWEET-DO-NOTHING 
Madame  Roland,  but  laughingly  agreed  with  her 
when  Annette  assured  him  that  it  would  be  worth 
several   votes   to   Crane   in  the   coming   senatorial 
contest. 

After  dinner  he  was  shown  to  a  cool  and  spot- 
less chamber,  where  he  had  a  very  refreshing  nap 
and  a  bath.  At  five  o'clock  he  was  summoned  be- 
low. Annette  awaited  him  in  the  modest  draw- 
ing-room. She  wore  a  pretty  muslin  gown,  and 
looked  as  fresh  as  a  dewdrop.  With  the  assistance 
of  the  neighbours,  the  lower  floor  was  dressed  with 
flowers,  and  simple  refreshments  were  served  upon 
tables  in  the  large  and  well-kept  garden. 

Annette,  taking  her  stand  at  the  door  of  the 
drawing-room  with  the  Senator,  received  with  dig- 
nity and  grace  the  people  who  came  pouring  in — 
the  Judge  of  the  County  Court,  the  professional 
men  in  the  town,  the  principal  of  the  Circleville 
High  School — all  accompanied  by  their  ladies, 
wearing  their  best  silk  gowns  and  very  tight  kid 
gloves.  Senator  Bicknell  was  affability  itself.  He 
was  an  amiable  man,  and  Annette  Crane's  virtues 
and  charms  were  such  as  appeal  peculiarly  to  men, 
so  that  most  of  them  wished  to  oblige  her.  He  was 
[235] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
secretly  amused  at  the  courage  and  capability  she 
had  shown  in  organising  a  political  reception  for 
him  on  such  short  notice,  and  determined  to  help 
her  through  with  it.  By  way  of  showing  his  good- 
will, he  spoke  with  enthusiasm  of  Crane  to  many 
persons,  and  said  that  he  should  be  pleased  if 
Crane  might  be  his  colleague  after  the  first  of 
January. 

At  seven  o'clock  he  was  obliged  to  take  his 
train.  Before  he  stepped  into  the  carriage  of  the 
Judge,  who  had  asked  the  honour  of  driving  him 
to  the  station,  Senator  Bicknell  expressed  to  An- 
nette the  most  sincere  gratitude  and  pleasure  at  his 
visit. 

"Tell  Mr.  Crane,"  he  whispered  to  her,  "that 
with  a  wife  who  has  such  masterly  capacity  for 
political  management  as  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Crane, 
he  may  expect  any  sort  of  promotion.  If  our  State 
is  honoured  by  being  awarded  the  Vice-presidential 
nomination,  I  am  afraid  no  one  else  will  be  heard 
of  except  Mr.  Crane,  if  you  take  the  affair  in 
charge." 

"You  are  laughing  at  me,"  cried  Annette,  laugh- 
ing herself,  but  colouring  with  pleasure  at  Senator 
[236] 


IN    THE    SWEET-DO-NOTHING 
Bicknell's    kind     manner    and    flattering    words. 
"Imagine  me  as  a  political  manager !" 

"My  dear  lady,  the  only  political  managers  in 
the  world,  among  women,  are  those  like  yourself, 
who  don't  know  that  they  are  managing.  Good- 
bye, and  a  thousand  thanks.  I  have  not  spent  so 
pleasant  a  day  for  a  long  time.  Remember,  when 
you  come  to  Washington,  you  are  to  dine  with  me 
many  times,  but  I  can't  make  you  enjoy  your  din- 
ner as  much  as  I  enjoyed  mine.  Regards  to 
Crane" — then,  stepping  into  the  carriage,  the  Sen- 
ator said  to  the  Judge  in  a  voice  meant  to  be  heard 
by  those  around : 

"Charming  woman — sweet,  well-behaved  chil- 
dren— comfortable  home — our  friend  Crane  is  in 
luck." 

Crane  did  not  return  until  the  next  evening,  and 
was  greeted  by  the  sensational  news  of  Sena- 
tor Bicknell's  visit.  Annette  was,  of  course, 
full  of  her  achievement  in  entertaining  the  Sena- 
tor. Instead  of  receiving  her  account  with  the 
pleasure  which  might  naturally  have  been  expect- 
ed, Crane  listened  with  sombre  eyes  and  a  face 
which  grew  pale  and  paler  as  Annette  proceeded 
[237] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
with  the  story  of  the  success  of  her  impromptu  re- 
ception. It  was  indeed  a  horribly  awkward  com- 
plication for  Crane,  and  vastly  increased  his  diffi- 
culties. His  chagrin  could  not  be  concealed,  and 
Annette  was  quickly  convinced,  to  her  distress  and 
amazement,  that  Senator  Bicknell's  visit  was  any- 
thing but  pleasant  to  Crane. 

When  this  was  borne  in  upon  her,  she  stopped 
speaking,  and  involuntarily  fixed  her  clear,  accus- 
ing eyes  on  her  husband.  All  at  once  her  suspi- 
cions of  the  changed  relations  between  Crane  and 
Senator  Bicknell,  and  Crane  and  Governor  San- 
ders, became  a  certainty.  In  a  moment  of  inspira- 
tion— the  inspiration  of  an  intelligent  honesty — 
the  probable  state  of  affairs  flashed  upon  her.  She 
remained  silent  for  a  time;  they  were  seated  alone 
at  the  tea-table,  in  the  garden,  and  the  August 
sunset  was  at  hand.  Crane's  countenance  grew 
anxious  as  Annette  watched  him. 

"Did  the  Senator  say  he  had  got  my  letter?"  he 
asked. 

"He  expressly  said  he  had  not  heard  from  you," 
replied  Annette.  "Did  you  go  away  from  home  to 
avoid  the  Senator?" 

[238] 


IN    THE    SWEET-DO-NOTHING 

It  was  but  a  chance  shot,  but  it  hit  the  bull's  eye. 
Crane  did  not  answer  the  question,  but  got  up  and 
walked  to  the  other  end  of  the  garden.  They  were 
sitting  and  talking  in  the  very  spot  where  Annette 
had  so  successfully  entertained  the  Senator  the 
afternoon  before. 

She  could  not,  of  course,  know  the  details,  but 
she  knew  then  that  Crane  was  a  traitor,  and  was 
pretending  a  goodwill  which  he  was  far  from  feel- 
ing. Annette  suffered  as  only  a  high-minded 
woman  can  suffer  when  the  lower  man  in  one  she 
loves  reveals  itself.  But  she  said  nothing.  She 
knew  that  Crane  must  work  out  his  own  sal- 
vation, and  that  she  could  be  of  no  help  to  him 
there. 

And  Crane,  having  a  guilty  conscience,  knew 
that  Annette  suspected  the  game  he  was  playing; 
and  this  made  him  more  unhappy  but  not  less 
guilty  than  before. 

Annette  had  told  Crane  of  Constance  Maitland's 
invitation  to  them,  which  piqued  as  much  as  it 
gratified  him.  He  knew  quite  well  that  but  for 
Annette  he  would  have  had  no  invitation.  Later 
on  came  a  note  from  Constance  repeating  the  in- 
[239] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
vitation  very  cordially,  but  Annette  felt  obliged  to 
decline  it  with  all  the  thanks  in  the  world. 

So  the  summer  passed  for  those  two. 

For  Thorndyke  the  summer  was,  first,  one  long 
anticipation  of  that  visit  he  was  to  pay  Constance, 
and  then,  one  long  retrospection  of  it.  He  had  en- 
joyed every  moment  of  it,  although  the  beginning 
was  inauspicious.  When  he  changed  trains  at 
Washington  to  go  into  Virginia,  whom  should  he 
find  in  the  Pullman  with  him  but  Mince  Pie  Mulli- 
gan, who  greeted  him  effusively.  Thorndyke  care- 
fully concealed  his  destination  from  Mr.  Mulligan, 
but  the  junior  Senator  was  by  no  means  so  se- 
cretive. 

"I'll  tell  you  where  I'm  going,"  he  said,  in  the 
friendly  juxtaposition  of  the  smoker.  "I'm  going 
to  a  place  up  in  Virginia  to  see  that  stunning 
woman  I  met  in  Washington,  Miss  Maitland. 
Never  saw  her  but  once,  but,  by  Jove,  that  was 
enough  to  make  me  want  to  see  her  again.  I've 
found  out  where  she  is  spending  the  summer,  and 
I'm  going  there  just  to  do  a  little  prospecting." 

Mr.  Mulligan  had  abandoned  the  violent  brogue 
which  he  had  used  on  a  former  occasion,  and  spoke 
[240] 


IN    THE    SWEET-DO-NOTHING 
pretty  fair  English,  but  his  mouth  was  as  wide  and 
his  hair  was  as  red  as  ever. 

Thorndyke,  consumed  with  inward  rage,  in- 
quired blandly  of  Mr.  Mulligan: 

"May  I  ask  if  you  were  invited  by  Miss  Maitland 
to  visit  her?" 

"Lord,  no,"  responded  Mr.  Mulligan,  cheer- 
fully. "But  I'm  just  prospecting.  I  don't  know 
whether  I  shall  like  her  or  not  after  I  know  her  bet- 
ter; but  I  expect  to  like  her.  The  way  she  sat 
down  on  those  two  young  women  snobs  added  a 
year  to  my  life,  and  I'm  thinking  I  gave  'em  a  good 
whack  or  two." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Thorndyke,  longing  to  throw 
Mulligan  out  of  the  car-window  and  under  the  loco- 
motive wheels,  "you  have  engaged  accommodations 
in  Miss  Maitland's  neighbourhood?" 

"Never  a  bit  of  it.  I  just  found  out  that  Miss 
Maitland's  station  was  Roseboro'  station  on  this 
road,  and  I  presume  there  must  be  some  sort  of  a 
hotel  within  reach,  or  I  can  stop  at  the  next 
town." 

"There  are  no  towns  in  that  part  of  the  county, 
and  Miss  Maitland  has  informed  me  that  there  isn't 
[241] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

a  hotel  or  boarding-house  within  ten  miles,"  replied 
Thorndyke,  stalking  angrily  back  into  the  Pull- 
man. 

The  train  stopped  at  Roseboro'  on  being  flagged, 
and  Thorndyke  had  one  of  the  most  delicious  mo- 
ments of  his  life  when  he  stepped  into  a  smart  trap 
driven  by  Constance  herself,  and  left  Senator  Mul- 
ligan, the  man  of  millions  and  of  pies,  stranded 
at  the  station,  which  consisted  of  the  passenger 
shed  and  the  station-master's  house,  which  had  four 
rooms,  in  which  the  station-master  with  his  wife 
and  eleven  children  lived  in  much  dirt  and  com- 
fort. 

Constance,  sitting  in  the  trap,  looking  remark- 
ably handsome  in  her  summer  costume  and  large 
black  hat,  felt  a  thrill  of  sympathy  for  the  unfor- 
tunate Mulligan,  standing  in  the  little  shed  of  a 
station  with  his  luggage  piled  around  him.  Not 
so  Thorndyke,  who  derived  acute  pleasure  from 
Mulligan's  miserable  situation. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Constance  to  the  forlorn  Senator, 
"  that  you  will  come  over  to  see  me  some  afternoon 
while  you  are  at  Roseboro'.  Malvern  is  only  six 
miles  away." 

[242] 


IN    THE    SWEET-DO-NOTHING 

"Thank  you,"  cried  Mulligan,  at  once  rising 
into  a  mood  of  enthusiastic  optimism,  "I'll  call  early 
and  often." 

"The  fellow  is  a  good-natured  ruffian,  but  I 
hope  I'll  be  out  when  he  calls,"  was  Thorndyke's 
remark  to  Constance  as  they  left  the  sandy  road  of 
Roseboro'  station  and  entered  the  cool  and  shaded 
highway  which  led  to  Malvern. 

As  Constance  and  Thorndyke  drove  along  the 
sweet-scented  country  lanes,  crossing  streams  by 
rickety  bridges  and  bumping  up  and  down  hills, 
Thorndyke  felt  himself  near  Paradise.  Constance 
was  so  kind  to  him,  so  unaffectedly  glad  to  see  him. 
Her  country  life  had  freshened  up  her  complexion, 
and  she  looked  positively  girlish,  and  her  high 
spirits  were  infectious.  She  described  the  house- 
party — Mrs.  Willoughby,  half  a  dozen  Virginia 
cousins  of  different  ages  and  sexes,  a  French  friend 
and  her  husband  travelling  in  America,  and  Cath- 
cart,  the  navy  man — at  whose  name  Thorndyke 
felt  a  sensible  diminution  of  his  happiness.  Con- 
stance was  charmed  with  Malvern  Court,  and  de- 
clared it  had  been  the  happiest  summer  of  her  life 
— almost. 

[243] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

"And  when  I  think  of  those  weary,  dreary  for- 
eign watering-places  of  which  I  grew  so  tired,  and 
of  those  tiresome  Swiss  hotels,  I  think  I  am  in 
Heaven  to  be  once  more  in  my  own  country  among 
my  own  kith  and  kin,  and  hearing  no  language  but 
good,  honest  English." 

"I  intended  to  go  to  Europe  this  summer,"  said 
Thorndyke,  meekly.  "I  had  planned  it  for  two 
or  three  years." 

"Why  did  you  not  go?"  asked  Constance,  heed- 
lessly. 

"Because  you  asked  me  to  visit  you,"  replied 
Thorndyke,  something  within  him  forcing  the 
truth  out  of  him  against  his  will,  and  then  he 
added,  hastily : 

"Forgive  me,  I'm  a  perfect  brute.  I  wouldn't 
blame  you  in  the  least  if  you  sent  me  back  north 
by  the  next  train." 

"Get  up,  Frolic,  you  idiot!"  cried  Constance  to 
her  smart  cob,  and  flicking  him  with  the  whip. 
Her  face  coloured,  her  eyes  shone — it  was  plain 
she  was  not  displeased.  But  a  horrible  suspicion 
occurred  to  Thorndyke — possibly  she  was,  after 
all,  a  thorough-going  flirt !  Many  of  those  South- 
[244] 


IN    THE    SWEET-DO-NOTHING 
ern   women   are,   and    can't   imagine   why   a   man 
should  object  to   having  a  football  made   of   his 
dearest  affections  as  long  as  it  amuses  the  lady  in 
the  case. 

This  gruesome  and  uncanny  thought,  together 
with  Cathcart's  presence  at  Malvern,  was  a  huge 
fly  in  Thorndyke's  ointment,  but  misery  is  as  much 
a  concomitant  of  love  as  joy  is,  and  Thorndyke 
had  his  share  of  miseries. 

The  great  live  oaks  were  casting  long  shadows 
on  the  large,  smooth  lawn  when  Constance  drove  up 
to  the  doors  of  Malvern  Court.  It  was  a  spacious 
brick  house  with  wings,  and  at  the  back  a  four- 
roomed  structure  common  to  Virginia  houses,  and 
known  as  "the  office,"  where  the  bachelors  were 
lodged.  The  house-guests  were  having  tea  under 
the  trees,  where  the  shadows  were  long,  when  Thorn- 
dyke  and  Constance  joined  them.  Scipio  Afri- 
canus  served  the  tea,  which  was  iced,  and  was  like 
water  in  the  desert  to  travellers.  It  was  handed 
with  much  ceremony  by  Scipio,  who  had  doffed  his 
smart  livery,  and  appeared  in  a  snow-white  linen 
jacket.  He  was  assisted  by  one  of  the  coloured 
maids,  who  now  wore  the  smartest  of  smart  caps 
[245] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
and  the  neatest  of  neat  print  gowns  instead  of 
the  short  skirt,  pink  shirtwaist,  and  picture-hat 
which  had  electrified  Thorndyke  at  the  Washing- 
ton station  a  few  weeks  before.  Constance  Mait- 
land  knew  precisely  when  to  relax  and  when  to 
tighten  discipline  among  her  staff  of  negro  serv- 
ants. 

Like  all  people  in  a  country  house,  the  guests 
were  glad  to  see  some  one  from  the  outside  world. 
It  was  a  pleasant  and  amiable  party,  and  Thorn- 
dyke  enjoyed  himself  in  spite  of  Cathcart's  pres- 
ence; but  Cathcart,  being  a  remarkably  pleasant 
and  personable  man,  everybody  except  Thorndyke 
relished  his  company. 

While  they  were  lingering  over  tea,  a  ram- 
shackly  buggy  of  the  prehistoric  age  of  buggies, 
with  an  unkempt  horse,  was  seen  driving  up  the 
winding,  shady  road  which  led  to  the  lawn.  In 
the  buggy  sat  no  less  a  person  than  Senator  Mince 
Pie  Mulligan.  He  had  seen  himself  ignominiously 
left  in  the  lurch  by  Thorndyke,  but  with  the  same 
spirit  of  enterprise  which  had  made  him  the  great- 
est pie-manufacturer  on  earth  he  had  investigated 
his  resources,  and  promptly  pursued  his  object 
[246] 


IN    THE    SWEET-DO-NOTHING 
with  the  best  means  at  hand — a  sure  mark  of  su- 
periority. 

When  he  alighted  from  his  ancient  buggy,  Con- 
stance advanced  to  meet  him,  and  greeted  him  with 
a  cordiality  which  inspired  Mr.  Mulligan  with  ad- 
miration and  hope.  He  did  not  know  that  South- 
erners in  their  own  habitat  meet  every  guest,  how- 
ever undesirable,  with  the  same  overflowing  cor- 
diality, which  is  reckoned  as  merely  good  manners. 
Senator  Mulligan,  however,  thought  this  custom 
of  generations  a  special  tribute  to  himself,  and 
gloated  over  that  cool,  supercilious  Thorndyke, 
who  had  smiled  in  a  superior  manner  at  the  Sena- 
tor's predicament  at  Roseboro'  station.  So  he  re- 
plied genially  to  Constance's  greeting: 

"As  you  were  good  enough  to  ask  me  to  call,  and 
as  I  don't  know  how  long  I'll  be  in  these  parts,  I 
said  to  myself,  'Faith,  I'll  pay  Miss  Maitland  a 
visit  this  very  afternoon.'  And  here  I  am  with  this 
ould  cruelty  cart,  when  I've  got  a  stable  full  of 
horses  at  home,  and  a  Panhard  red  devil  that  cost 
me  six  thousand  dollars  to  buy  and  a  thousand  a 
year  to  keep — but,  like  the  butterfly,  I  get  there 
just  the  same." 

[247] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

Constance,  being  a  clever  woman,  looked  into 
Michael  Mulligan's  soul  and  saw  that  it  was  hon- 
est, according  to  his  lights,  and  that  his  bragging 
was  not  bragging  at  all,  but  an  innocent  way  of 
mentioning  what  the  pie  business  had  brought 
him. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Senator,"  she  replied, 
smiling,  and  then  gravely  introduced  this  member 
of  the  august  Senate  of  the  United  States  to  the 
group  sitting  about  the  tea-table. 

Nobody  but  Thorndyke  and  Cathcart  took  in 
the  situation.  The  Virginia  cousins,  to  whom  po- 
litical preferment  means  that  the  object  of  it  be- 
longs to  one  of  the  first  families  in  his  own  home, 
supposed  that  Mr.  Mulligan,  although  certainly 
very  odd-looking,  had  a  long  line  of  distinguished 
ancestors,  and  it  was  with  much  cordiality  that  an 
ex-Confederate  Colonel,  grave  and  suave,  with  a 
snow-white  moustache  and  imperial,  shook  Mike 
Mulligan's  hand,  saying: 

"I  am  pleased,  sir,  to  make  your  acquaintance, 
and  to  bid  you  welcome  upon  the  soil  of  old  Vir- 
ginia." 

The  Frenchman,  a  retired  army  officer,  and  his 


IN  THE  SWEET-DO-NOTHING 
wife,  a  thorough-bred  French  gentlewoman,  were 
equally  polite,  but  they  arrived  at  a  much  more 
correct  estimate  of  Senator  Mulligan's  social  status 
than  the  ex-Confederate  Colonel.  As  for  the  Hon- 
ourable Mike,  he  started  in  to  enjoy  himself  in  a 
whole-souled  manner,  which  would  commend  him  to 
all  sincere  persons.  He  drank  three  glasses  of  iced 
tea  running,  complimented  the  late  President  Da- 
vis and  General  Lee,  declared  that  he  meant  to  buy 
up  a  good  part  of  the  State  of  Virginia,  and 
worked  himself  up  into  a  whirlwind  of  enthusiasm 
over  everything  he  saw.  This  completely  capti- 
vated all  the  ex-Confederates  present,  amazed  the 
French  strangers,  and  amused  Thorndyke  and 
Cathcart  beyond  words.  On  leaving,  Senator  Mul- 
ligan told  Constance  nothing  but  the  truth  when 
he  said  that  he  had  never  enjoyed  an  afternoon 
more,  or  had  found  himself  among  more  "conjayn- 
ial  company." 

Then  began  for  Thorndyke  a  week  of  rapture, 
mixed  with  agonising  jealousy;  for  let  no  man 
suppose  that  his  passions  have  no  more  power  to 
trouble  him  after  his  hair  grows  scanty  and  his 
moustache  grows  grey.  In  all  those  years  of  sep- 
[  24,9  ] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

aration  from  Constance,  the  edge  of  Thorndyke's 
pain  had  been  dulled,  but  the  ache  was  still  there; 
and  from  the  April  night  he  had  first  seen  her, 
until  then,  he  felt  himself  being  steadily  and  se- 
curely mastered  by  that  great  love  of  his  life — as 
steadily  and  securely  as  if  he  could  have  offered 
her  his  honest  and  devoted  heart.  And  to  be  thrown 
with  her  daily — to  spend  the  bright  summer  morn- 
ings in  the  cool,  old  drawing-room  with  Constance, 
listening  to  the  pleasant,  languid  talk  of  people  in 
a  country  house,  the  shady  afternoons  in  driving 
over  the  rich,  green,  placid  country,  sometimes  with 
Constance  by  his  side — the  deep,  blue  nights,  sitting 
on  the  great  stone  porch,  watching  the  silver  moon 
rise  over  the  distant  pine-crowned  mountain-peaks, 
and  looking  at  Constance,  in  a  thin  white  gown, 
seeming  as  young  by  night  as  in  those  sweet  Italian 
nights  long  past — it  would  have  been  bliss  but  for 
two  things.  One  was  that  she  was  as  kind  to  Cath- 
cart  as  to  himself,  and  the  other  was  that  she  was 
so  very  kind  to  him.  For  since  she  could  not  pos- 
sibly think  of  marrying  him,  she  could  only  be 
amusing  herself  at  his  expense. 

Thorndyke  was  nearly  forty-five  years  old,  he 
[250] 


IN    THE    SWEET-DO-NOTHING 
was   a   member  of  Congress,  and  reckoned  a  pe- 
culiarly   cool-headed    and    long-headed    man,    but 
he    was    thereby    exempt    from    the    agonies    of 
love. 

As  for  Senator  Mulligan,  Thorndyke  did  not 
need  to  recall  the  frank  confession  made  on  the  train 
to  know  that  Mince  Pie  had  speedily  made  up  his 
mind  that  Constance  was  worth  the  winning,  and 
to  go  about  it  with  promptness  and  energy.  On 
the  very  last  afternoon,  Thorndyke,  disgusted  with 
the  goodwill  which  Constance  had  shown  Cathcart, 
retired  to  a  rustic  summer-house  on  the  lawn,  to 
writhe  in  secret  with  jealousy,  and  incidentally  to 
read  the  New  York  newspapers.  Presently  he  saw 
Constance  and  Senator  Mulligan  walking  across 
the  sward  toward  the  house.  Constance's  face  was 
flushed,  and  she  was  walking  rapidly.  Senator 
Mulligan  was  talking  earnestly  to  her,  and  his 
brogue  was  more  evident  than  usual,  under  the 
stress  of  emotion.  Immediately  in  front  of  the 
summer-house  Constance  stopped  and  faced  the 
Senator. 

"I  must  beg  of  you,"  she  said,  in  a  clear  voice, 
with  a  faint  ring  of  indignation  in  it,  "to  say  no 
[251] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

more  on  this  subject  to  me  now,  or  at  any  other 
time." 

"Well,  I've  said  about  all  I  had  to  say,"  replied 
Senator  Mulligan,  warmly.  "I  asked  you  to  marry 
me,  I  did,  and  I  tould  you,  I  did,  if  you  had  to  lose 
what  money  you  had  because  I'm  an  American, 
thank  God,  that  I'd  make  it  up  to  you  a  dozen  times 
over.  I  said  that,  I  did,  and  I  didn't  desaive  you 
about  the  senatorship."  The  brogue  by  this  time 
was  rampant.  "The  thing  was  going  a-beggin', 
and  the  Governor,  he  sends  for  me,  and  he  says  to 
me,  'Mike,'  says  he,  'you'll  be  nothin'  but  a  stop- 
gap, and  don't  get  any  other  notion  into  your  red 
head  but  that — and  ye'll  step  down  and  out  the 
first  of  January,'  says  he ;  'and  don't  monkey  with 
the  buzz  saw,'  says  he.  And  I  says,  says  I,  'I 
won't,  Governor,  and  I'll  have  my  fling  at  Wash- 
ington, and  I'll  take  down  my  Panhard  red  devil, 
and  go  a-scorchin'  over  the  Washington  streets, 
and  have  the  time  of  my  life,'  and  bedad,  I  have. 
And  I  had  no  more  thought  of  falling  in  love  and 
getting  married  than  I  have  of  trying  to  get  up 
a  diligation  to  present  my  name  to  the  next  Prisi- 
dential  convention.  But  then  I  met  you,  Miss 
[252] 


IN  THE  SWEET-DO-NOTHING 
Maitland,  and  I  came  up  here  after  you,  and  you've 
bowled  me  over,  senatorship  and  all,  and  I've  tould 
the  truth,  and  not  a  lie  in  the  bunch,  and  I've 
offered  to  give  up  your  money,  and  I  don't  see  that 
I've  done  anything  for  you  to  look  at  me  like  Lady 
Macbeth,  and  I  beg  your  pardon  if  I've  offinded 
you." 

During  this  speech  Constance  Maitland's  heart 
softened  toward  Mince  Pie  Mike.  He  had  only 
claimed  a  man's  inalienable  right,  and  he  had 
behaved  as  honourably  as  in  him  lay.  So  she 
said,  with  a  softening  of  the  voice  as  well  as  the 
heart: 

"I  feel  sure  that  all  you  say  is  true  and  I  am 
sorry  if  I  have  wounded  you — but  what  you  ask  is 
not  to  be  thought  of  for  a  moment." 

"Well,"  remarked  the  Senator,  resignedly,  "it's 
a  disappointment,  it's  a  great  disappointment,  but 
there   are    other    things    in    life,    Miss    Maitland. 
There's  the   pleasure  of  helping  widows   and  or- 
phans, and  I  swear  to  you  I  have  done  that  as  well 
as  I  could  iver  since  I  was  a  clerk  in  good  ould 
1   Danny  Hogan's  corner  store,  and  there's  the  pleas- 
ure of  managing  the  primaries  and  handing  over 
[253] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
the  biggest  batch  of  votes  for  the  money  of  any 
man  in  the  State — 

"Mr.  Mulligan !"  cried  Constance,  in  horror. 

"Yes,  there's  no  denying  of  it  in  some  States — 
and  there's  automobiling  and  plenty  of  other  clean, 
dacent  pleasures  to  make  up  for  love.  But  I  tell 
you,  Miss  Maitland,  there  never  can  be  the  time, 
if  I'm  still  single,  that  you  can't  be  Mrs.  Michael 
Patrick  Mulligan,  and  your  money  may  go  to  the 
bow-wows  for  all  I  care,  and  I  honour  and  admire 
you  above  all  the  women  I  iver  knew,  I  do  that. 
Good-bye.  Don't  snub  the  life  out  of  me  in  Wash- 
ington if  I  meet  you  next  winter." 

"I  shall  not,  I  promise  you — good-bye,"  said 
Constance,  and  walking  briskly  into  the  summer- 
house,  while  Senator  Mulligan  turned  away,  she 
almost  walked  into  Geoffrey  Thorndyke's  arms. 

"I  couldn't  help  hearing,"  said  Thorndyke,  with 
a  burning  face.  "I  couldn't  get  out — it  would 
have  been  beastly  to  the  poor  devil " 

And  then  both  of  them  suddenly  burst  into  a 
gale  of  laughter,  nor  could  they,  all  that  day  and 
evening,  meet  each  other's  eyes  without  laughing 
mysteriously. 

[254] 


IN  THE  SWEET-DO-NOTHING 
Thorndyke's  visit  lasted  a  week.  It  was  a  week 
of  heaven  and  hell  to  him.  When  he  went  away, 
Constance  Maitland  realised  that,  to  accomplish 
her  heart's  desire,  she  would  have  to  do  the  propos^ 
ing  herself,  as  Queen  Victoria  did  on  a  similar 
occasion. 


[255] 


Chapter  Twelve 

WHAT   IS   IT    TO    BE   HONEST   IN    POLITICS    AND    TRUE 
IN   LOVE? 

On  the  first  Monday  in  December — a  gloriously 
bright  winter  day — the  flags  were  run  up  over  the 
Senate  and  House  wings  of  the  Capitol  building. 
Congress  had  met  once  more. 

There  were  the  usual  thronging  multitudes  in  the 
corridors,  the  usual  pleasant  buzz  of  meeting  and 
greeting  in  cloak  and  committee  rooms,  and  the 
cheerfulness  and  exhilaration  of  the  last  session 
was  flamboyant  in  the  present  one. 

Among  the  last  members  of  the  House  to  arrive 
was  Julian  Crane.  He  had  come  late  because  he 
wished  to  put  off  as  long  as  possible  the  meeting 
with  Senator  Bicknell.  Of  course,  they  must  meet 
early  and  often,  but  that  did  not  make  Crane  take 
any  less  pains  to  postpone,  if  even  for  a  day,  the 
[256] 


WHAT    IS    IT    TO    BE    HONEST? 

sight  of  the  man  he  had  betrayed.  But  almost  the 
first  acquaintance  he  ran  across  was  the  Senator 
in  a  group  of  brother  senators  who  had  strolled 
over  to  the  House  side. 

Senator  Bicknell  greeted  Crane  with  unusual 
cordiality.  In  the  first  place,  he  really  wished  to 
attach  Crane  to  the  Bicknell  chariot,  but  he  had 
such  agreeable  recollections  of  his  August  day  in 
Circleville,  of  Annette  and  her  spotless  table,  her 
roast  chicken  and  boiled  corn,  her  sweet,  fresh 
spare  bedroom,  where  he  had  enjoyed  one  of  the 
best  naps  of  his  life,  and  her  impromptu  reception 
in  the  afternoon,  that  he  felt  an  increased  kindli- 
ness for  Crane.  He  showed  this  by  button-holing 
Crane  in  the  midst  of  the  group  of  senators,  and 
telling  the  story  of  his  day  in  Circleville.  He  paid 
Annette  many  sincere  compliments,  and  declared 
that  if  Crane  should  enter  the  senatorial  contest  a 
year  and  a  half  hence,  and  should  defeat  him,  it 
would  simply  be  on  account  of  the  charming  Mrs. 
Crane.  It  was  not  fair  to  pit  a  man  with  such  a 
lovely  wife  against  a  hopeless  and  incurable  bach- 
elor like  himself. 

Under  other  circumstances  Crane  would  have 
[257] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
been  highly  gratified,  but  now  it  tortured  him. 
He  heard  once  more  ringing  in  his  ears  Governor 
Sanders's  words,  "It  is  absolutely  necessary  that 
Senator  Bicknell  be  not  taken  into  our  confidence." 
To  cap  the  climax,  Senator  Bicknell  said: 

"Be  sure  and  give  my  warmest  regards  to  Mrs. 
Crane,  and  tell  her  I  shall  take  the  first  opportu- 
nity to  call  on  her — she  is  here,  I  suppose?  She 
mentioned  last  summer  that  she  was  coming  on 
with  you." 

"Yes,"  replied  Crane,  "we  are  established  for  the 
season" — and  he  gave  the  name  of  a  comfortable, 
but  not  expensive  or  fashionable,  apartment  house 
where  they  had  quarters. 

"And  say  to  her  that,  although  I  can't  give  her 
a  dinner  half  so  good  as  what  she  gave  me,  I 
shall  expect  her  and  you  to  arrange  to  dine  with 
me  at  my  house  at  a  very  early  day.  Good  morn- 
ing." 

Crane  escaped  and  went  to  his  seat  in  the  House. 
While  he  was  contemplating  the  baseness  of  his 
own  conduct,  Thorndyke  came  over  and  spoke  to 
him. 

Thorndyke's  first  impression  of  Crane  was  that 
[258] 


WHAT    IS    IT    TO    BE    HONEST? 

he  looked  haggard  and  worn,  and  Crane's  impres- 
sion of  Thorndyke  was  that  he  had  grown  about 
ten  years  younger.  His  greeting  to  Thorndyke 
was  very  cordial,  but  he  was  conscious  of  a  strange 
thing — that  ever  since  his  bargain  with  Sanders, 
the  meeting  with  former  friends,  men  of  sterling 
probity,  gave  him  a  vague  uneasiness.  It  seemed 
to  him  as  if,  in  duping  Senator  Bicknell,  he  was 
duping  every  honest  man  he  knew.  Thorndyke, 
too,  asked  after  Mrs.  Crane,  and  it  began  to  dawn 
upon  Crane's  mind  that  Annette  had  the  power,  in 
a  remarkable  degree,  of  pleasing  men  of  the  world. 
Still,  he  thought  her  not  quite  good  enough  for 
himself,  particularly  if  the  brilliant  future  he 
planned  should  materialise — as  it  must  and  should. 

The  proceedings  of  the  day  were  perfunctory, 
and  it  was  but  little  after  three  o'clock  when  Thorn- 
dyke  left  the  House.  The  afternoon  was  briskly 
cold,  and  the  sun  glittered  from  a  heaven  as  blue 
as  June.  Just  as  Thorndyke  came  out  on  the  plaza 
he  encountered  Crane,  who  would  have  avoided  him, 
but  it  was  scarcely  possible. 

The  two  men  walked  down  the  hill,  and  toward 
Thorndyke's  old  quarters.  They  talked  amicably 
[259] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
and  even  intimately,  but  Thorndyke  got  a  curious 
impression  of  reserve  from  Crane — and  reserve  was 
the  last  thing  in  the  world  to  develop  in  Julian 
Crane.  As  they  walked  along  the  streets  in  the 
dazzling  sun  of  December  in  Washington,  they 
were  speaking  of  the  great  economic  questions 
with  which  the  Congress  would  have  to  deal. 
Thorndyke,  as  an  accomplished  lawyer,  saw  cer- 
tain difficulties  in  the  way  of  regulating  these  mat- 
ters which  Crane  did  not  at  first  perceive. 

"After  all,"  said  Thorndyke,  "it  comes  down  to 
whether  either  political  party  will  deal  honestly 
with  these  questions.  If  they  do,  a  solution  will  be 
found,  and  the  whole  matter  can,  in  the  course  of  a 
few  years,  be  properly  adjusted." 

"What  do  you  call  perfect  honesty  in  politics?" 
asked  Crane,  after  a  moment. 

"That's  rather  a  large  proposition,"  replied 
Thorndyke,  laughing.  "I  should  say,  if  called 
upon  to  give  an  immediate  definition,  that  perfect 
honesty  in  politics  means  keeping  one's  hands  clean 
in  money  matters,  and  being  an  outspoken  friend 
or  enemy." 

Crane's  heart  sank  at  this.    He  did  not  know  why 
[260] 


WHAT    IS    IT    TO    BE    HONEST? 
he  should  have  asked  such  a  question,  and  he  was 
hard  hit  by  Thorndyke's  reply. 

"There  must  be  a  good,  wide  margin  allowed  for 
offensive  partisanship,"  Thorndyke  continued. 
"That's  the  trouble  with  the  professors  of  political 
economy  in  colleges — they  leave  human  nature  out 
of  the  equation.  There's  my  boss,  Senator  Standi- 
ford.  He  is  as  honest  as  the  day  as  far  as  money 
goes,  and  honest  in  using  his  enormous  power  for 
the  good  of  the  party,  and  he  was  born  with  the 
notion  that  his  party  and  the  country  are  inter- 
changeable terms.  He  uses  dishonest  men  some- 
times, but  not  dishonest  methods.  It  is  both 
shameful  and  ridiculous  that  a  great  State  like  ours 
should  hand  over  such  vast  power  to  one  man  as  it 
has  to  Senator  Standiford,  but  that's  not  his  fault. 
It  is  rather  to  his  credit  that  he  has  not  misused 
his  power.  The  trouble  is,  that  the  people  will  get 
accustomed  to  the  system  of  one-man  government, 
and  when  Senator  Standiford  goes  hence,  the  party 
will  choose  another  dictator,  probably  neither  as 
honest  or  as  able  as  he." 

"Senator  Standiford  is  a  rich  man.     Suppose  he 
were  poor?     What  percentage  would  you  allow  a 
[261] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
poor  man  in  political  life  in  his  efforts  to  be  hon- 
est?" 

"I  can't  figure  it  out  that  way,"  answered  Thorn- 
dyke,  "although  I  ought  to  know  public  life  from 
the  viewpoint  of  the  poor  but  honest  Congressman. 
I  am  not  worth  ten  thousand  dollars  in  the  world 
outside  of  my  Congressional  salary.  But  as  the 
Kentucky  colonel  said  on  the  stump,  'I  am  as  hon- 
est as  the  times  will  allow.'  " 

"Don't  you  think,"  persisted  Crane,  for  whom 
this  discussion  of  honesty  in  public  life  had  a  pow- 
erful fascination,  "that  the  same  man  in  certain 
political  circumstances  would  remain  honest,  while 
in  different  circumstances  he  might  succumb  to 
temptation?  Take  the  case  of  a  poor  man  in  poli- 
tics." 

"I  admit  that  the  most  desperate  venture  on 
earth  is  for  a  man  to  attempt  to  live  by  politics. 
Some  men  have  done  it,  like  Patrick  Henry,  for  ex- 
ample. But  those  men  are  quite  beyond  compari- 
son with  every-day  men.  However,  Marcus  Aure- 
lius  says,  'A  man  should  be  upright,  he  should  not 
be  made  to  be  upright.'  " 

This  saying  of  Marcus  Aurelius  troubled  Crane. 
[262] 


WHAT  IS  IT  TO  BE  HONEST? 
He  did  not  fully  believe  it.  He  thought  that  Mar- 
cus Aurelius,  like  the  professors  of  political  econ- 
omy in  colleges  and  universities,  left  out  of  account 
the  great  factor  of  human  nature,  which  makes  a 
bad  man  to  do  good  acts,  and  a  good  man  to  do  bad 
acts,  and  makes  a  man  good  at  one  time,  bad  at  an- 
other, and  both  good  and  bad  together.  Presently 
he  roused  himself  and  said: 

"It  would  be  a  great  thing  for  any  public  man 
if  he  could  lead  such  a  life  that  every  word  he  said 
or  wrote  could  be  printed." 

"Why,  have  you  been  writing  letters  lately?" 

"God  knows,  no !  I  have  always  had  sense 
enough  for  that — to  write  as  few  letters  as  possi- 
ble." 

At  that  moment  Crane  felt  a  thrill  of  satisfaction 
— not  one  line  did  Governor  Sanders  have  of  his. 

The  two  men  then  began  to  talk  about  the  politi- 
cal situation  generally,  and  Thorndyke  noticed  in 
Crane  an  exultant  spirit,  a  disposition  to  brag 
which  had  been  absent  in  him  at  the  time  of  his  first 
rise  into  prominence,  when  it  might  have  been 
expected  to  develop.  The  truth  was  that  Crane 
found  the  only  solace  for  his  moral  lapses  lay  in 
[263] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
contemplating  the  splendid  prizes  which  Sanders 
had  dangled  before  his  eyes.  He  had  come  to  be- 
lieve that  some  of  these  splendid  prizes  must  be 
his ;  it  was  incredible  that  he  should  not  receive  the 
price  for  which  he  had  sold  his  honour.  And  as 
the  case  always  is,  whether  a  man  is  or  is  not  wholly 
bad,  Crane  promised  himself  at  some  future  time, 
when  he  had  garnered  all  the  fruits  of  his  wrong- 
doing, to  lead  a  life  of  perfect  rectitude. 

Then  they  came  to  the  street  corner  where  their 
paths  diverged,  and  Thorndyke  said  at  parting : 

"Please  give  my  warmest  regards  to  Mrs.  Crane, 
and  tell  her  I  mean  to  presume  upon  her  past  kind- 
ness to  me  and  call  to  see  her  in  the  evening." 

"Have  you  seen  Miss  Maitland?"  asked  Crane. 

"No,"  replied  Thorndyke,  who  had  just  pro- 
claimed himself  a  man  of  truth.  He  had  not,  in- 
deed, seen  Constance  to  speak  to  her,  but  the  night 
before,  within  two  hours  of  his  arrival,  when  he 
had  gone  out  to  smoke  his  after-dinner  cigar,  he 
had  sneaked  up  to  her  house,  and  had  watched  her 
as  she  passed  to  and  fro  before  the  lighted  windows 
of  the  drawing-room. 

Crane  went  upon  his  way  gloomily,  turning  over 
[264] 


WHAT  IS  IT  TO  BE  HONEST? 
in  his  mind  his  conversation  with  Thorndyke,  and 
all  the  difficulties  of  his  situation,  which  were  accen- 
tuated by  his  being  in  Washington.  The  strong 
fancy  which  Senator  Bicknell  had  taken  to  An- 
nette made  everything  harder.  It  seemed  as  if  all 
those  things  which  might  be  reckoned  an  unmixed 
good  for  an  honest  man  were  a  burden  and  a  per- 
plexity to  him,  Julian  Crane. 

Thinking  these  uncomfortable  thoughts,  he 
found  himself  at  the  entrance  to  the  big  apartment 
house,  and  went  to  his  own  quarters. 

They  were  small  and  cramped,  but  the  locality 
was  good  and  the  outlook  pleasant.  Annette 
and  the  two  children  met  him  with  smiles.  The 
children  had  grown  acquainted  with  him  and  had 
become  fairly  fond  of  him.  As  for  Annette,  she 
had  never,  in  all  her  married  life,  so  striven  to  help 
her  husband  as  in  the  last  few  months,  when  she 
had  seen  that  he  was  troubled  and  suspected  that 
he  was  engaged  in  wrong-doing.  All  her  pity,  all 
her  loyalty  as  a  wife,  had  risen  within  her.  She 
had  gradually  abandoned  the  attitude  of  reserve 
which  she  had  maintained  toward  him  ever  since 
that  first  unfortunate  experience  in  Washington 
[  265  ] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
so  long  ago.  She  reproached  herself,  as  the  good 
always  do,  for  not  having  been  better.  Had  she 
given  him  more  of  her  confidence  and  sought  his 
more,  she  might  now  be  in  a  position  to  help  him, 
or  at  least  to  sympathise  with  his  trouble,  what- 
ever it  might  be.  But  her  conscience  should  never 
upbraid  her  again  for  want  of  sympathy  and  ten- 
derness to  him.  He  might  tell  her  of  his  perplexi- 
ties, or  he  might  keep  them  to  himself,  she  would 
be  all  tenderness  and  softness  to  him.  And  then  the 
hope  was  born  and  lived  in  her  heart,  which  every 
neglected  wife  has,  that  calamities  of  the  soul  as 
well  as  the  heart  might  bring  her  husband  once 
more  to  her  side.  For  Annette  had  never  ceased  to 
love  her  husband — and  loving  spells  forgiveness 
with  a  woman. 

Crane  dutifully  delivered  Senator  Bicknell's  and 
Thorndyke's  messages,  and  Annette's  eyes  sparkled 
with  pleasure.  She  felt  an  increase  of  courage. 
She  thought  Crane  must  have  seen  that  she  had 
been  a  help,  not  a  hinderance  to  him,  socially  and 
personally,  when  she  had  been  given  a  chance,  and 
she  meant  to  show  him  that  she  could  hold  her  own 
in  Washington  as  well  as  in  Circleville. 
[266] 


WHAT    IS    IT    TO    BE    HONEST? 

A  week  or  two  passed  in  all  the  gay  confusion 
of  the  beginning  of  the  season  in  Washington. 
Thorndyke  had  watched  his  chance  to  call  on  Con- 
stance Maitland.  Carefully  avoiding  her  usual 
day  at  home,  he  had  called  on  a  peculiarly  raw  and 
disagreeable  afternoon,  very  late,  when  he  felt  sure 
that  she  must  have  returned  from  her  daily  drive. 
He  found  her  in  her  drawing-room,  which  was 
dusky,  although  it  was  not  yet  six  o'clock,  with  a 
bright  fire  leaping  high  and  making  the  charming 
room  bright  with  its  ruddy  glow. 

Constance,  wrapped  in  rich  dark  furs,  her  cheeks 
tingling  with  the  fresh  cold  air  without,  her  eyes 
sparkling,  was  standing  before  the  blazing  fire. 
She  was  unaffectedly  glad  to  see  Thorndyke,  and 
he  felt  that  sense  of  quiet  wellbeing  which  always 
came  upon  him  when  he  was  with  her  in  her  own 
house.  They  had  much  to  talk  about.  Constance 
took  off  her  furs  and  the  long,  rich  cloak  which 
enveloped  her,  and  sat  down  on  the  deep,  inviting 
sofa,  and  motioned  Thorndyke  to  her  side. 

Among  the  persons  they  spoke  of  were  Julian 
Crane  and  Annette.  Thorndyke  volunteered  the 
suggestion  that  Crane  was  passing  through  some 
[267] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

sort  of  a  crisis — he  was  so  changed,  so  silent  where 
he  was  formerly  talkative,  so  full  of  vague  exulta- 
tion and  of  equally  vague  depression.  Thorndyke 
had  seen  Annette  and  the  children.  Annette  had 
asked  to  be  remembered  to  Miss  Maitland,  and 
Constance  replied  that  she  should  call  at  once  to 
see  Mrs.  Crane.  She  was  not  particularly  inter- 
ested in  Julian  Crane's  crises,  except  that  she  said, 
woman  fashion,  that  he  ought  to  be  more  attentive 
to  his  wife. 

Thorndyke  then  mentioned  that  Senator  Mulli- 
gan was  in  town,  at  which  they  both  laughed. 
But  soon  the  conversation  got  down  to  the  you  and 
I — the  books  each  had  read,  the  thoughts  each  had 
pondered,  the  places  each  had  been.  Constance 
had  remained  continuously  at  Malvern  Court  from 
June  until  late  in  November.  She  had  had  a  suc- 
cession of  house-parties  during  the  summer,  but  in 
the  golden  autumn  she  had  been  quite  alone. 

"It  was  the  sweetest,  the  most  peaceful  life  you 
can  imagine,"  she  said,  thoughtfully.  "All  the 
world  was  shut  out,  except  Virginia  cousins,  but  I 
even  escaped  most  of  them.  All  day  I  was  out  in  the 
woods  and  lanes,  riding  or  driving  or  walking,  and 
[268] 


WHAT  IS  IT  TO  BE  HONEST? 
in  the  evening,  with  a  wood  fire,  a  book,  a  piano, 
and  a  lamp — it  was  company  enough,  yet  it  was 
solitude  itself.  It  was  like  Omar's  shady  tree 
and  loaf  of  bread  and  jug  of  wine  and  book  of 
verse." 

"And  thou,"  added  Thorndyke,  under  his 
breath.  He  was  watching  her  with  a  silent  rapture 
which  possessed  him  on  meeting  her  after  an  ab- 
sence. She  surely  had  the  softest  and  sweetest 
voice  in  the  world,  and  those  charming  tricks  of 
pronunciation — she  called  solitude  "solee-tude"  and 
piano  "pe-arno,"  and  was  quite  unconscious  of  it, 
and  bitterly  denied  any  difference  between  her 
speech  and  Thorndyke's.  Constance  was  conscious 
of  the  adoring  look  in  Thorndyke's  eyes;  she  had 
heard  the  one  suggestive  word ;  perhaps  it  was  that 
which  caused  a  happy  smile  to  flicker  for  a  moment 
on  her  lips,  revealing  the  faint,  elusive  dimple  in 
her  cheek,  but  she  continued  as  if  she  had  neither 
heard,  nor  seen,  nor  understood. 

"I  have   heard  about  the  solitude  there  is  in 
crowds,  but  I  never  could  find  it  so.    I  am  so  dread- 
fully sociable — Southern  and  Creole  French,  you 
know — that  I  always  find  troops  of   friends  and 
[269] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
acquaintances  in  a  crowd.     But  in  that  solitary  old 
country  house  in  the  autumn — that,  if  you  please, 
was  to  be  alone." 

"You  seem  to  have  a  passion  for  solitude,"  said 
Thorndyke,  rather  crossly. 

"Oh,  no,  only  a  taste  for  it  at  times.  I  never 
contemplated  with  pleasure  a  solitary  life,  and  I 
have  a  horror  of  a  lonely  old  age." 

What  did  she  mean  ?  Was  she  proposing  to  him  ? 
Thorndyke  was  a  good  deal  staggered  by  this 
speech  from  the  lady  of  his  secret  love. 

The  time  sped  fast  with  them,  and  both  of  them 
started  when  a  neighbouring  clock  struck  seven. 
Constance  rose  at  once. 

"I  must  go  and  dress  for  dinner — and  you — 
you  will  remain?" 

Such  an  idea  had  never  entered  Thorndyke's 
brain  before,  but  in  half  a  quarter  of  a  second  he 
had  accepted. 

"Of  course,"  said  Constance,  airily,  picking  up 

her  muff,  and  putting  her  bare  hands  in  it,  "it's 

very  improper  for  you  and  me  to  dine  together 

without  others,  but  we  have  reached  that  comforta- 

[270] 


WHAT    IS    IT    TO    BE    HONEST? 

ble  age  when  we  can  commit  all  sorts  of  improprie- 
ties in  perfect  safety.  It  is  a  fine  thing  to  grow 
old." 

"That  thought  almost  reconciles  me  to  the  loss 
of  my  hair,"  replied  Thorndyke.  "You  will  have 
to  excuse  my  afternoon  clothes,  of  course,  since 
you  have  asked  me  to  stay." 

"Certainly.  And  out  of  consideration  for  your 
feelings,  I  shall  make  only  a  demi-toilette." 

Presently  they  were  seated  at  a  small  round 
table,  and  Scipio  was  serving  a  dainty  little  dinner. 
How  young  they  felt!  There  was  no  debutante 
or  fledgling  youth  present  to  remind  them  that 
Time  had  meddled  with  their  hair  and  complexions, 
no  elderly  persons  to  claim  them  as  pertaining  to 
middle  age.  Thorndyke  had  rarely  been  more  ex- 
hilarated in  his  life.  There  might  be  a  morrow; 
nothing  was  changed  by  these  stray  hours  of  hap- 
piness, but  still  they  were  hours  of  happiness.  As 
for  Constance,  she  was  radiant  with  pleasure,  and 
was  at  no  pains  to  conceal  it.  Thorndyke,  it  is 
true,  always  found  misery  and  disappointment 
waiting  for  him  at  his  lodgings  whenever  he  re- 
[271] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
turned  from  Constance's  house;  but  they  could  not 
frighten   off   those    occasional   sweet   hours    which 
bloomed  like  snowdrops  in   a  barren  and  frosted 
field. 

One  of  the  first  visits  that  Constance  paid  was 
to  Annette  Crane.  As  Thorndyke  had  seen  anx- 
iety written  all  over  Crane's  personality,  so  Con- 
stance saw  that  Annette  was  not  wholly  at  ease. 
But  she  was  unaffectedly  glad  to  see  Constance, 
and  soon  returned  the  visit.  Crane  did  not  accom- 
pany her.  He  was  beginning  to  feel  a  species  of 
resentment  toward  Constance.  Why,  although  he 
had  told  her  of  the  comforting  and  sustaining 
power  she  had  for  him,  had  she  chosen  to  treat 
him  exactly  as  she  treated  all  other  men,  except  the 
few  whom  she  chose  to  favour  outrageously?  Why, 
when  she  showed  him  any  consideration,  was  An- 
nette the  obvious  cause?  Self-love  was  beginning 
to  do  for  Crane  what  conscience  had  failed  to  do — 
emancipate  him  from  his  admiration  for  a  woman 
other  than  his  wife. 

A  day  or  two  after  reaching  Washington,  Crane 
had  left  a  card  for  Senator  Bicknell.     When  Sen- 
ator Bicknell  returned  the  visit,  Crane,  luckily,  was 
[272] 


WHAT    IS    IT    TO    BE    HONEST? 
not  at  home,  and  the  Senator  paid  his  call  on  An- 
nette and  enjoyed  it  very  much.     He  had  said  to 
her  at  leaving: 

"Remember,  Mrs.  Crane,  you  promised  to  dine 
with  me  many  times  in  Washington,  so  that  I  may 
repeat,  as  far  as  possible,  that  pleasant  day  at  Oir- 
cleville." 

"I  am  prepared  to  fulfil  my  promise,"  replied 
Annette,  smiling,  "but  I  hope  you  will  give  me  a 
better  dinner  than  I  gave  you." 

"More  kickshaws,  perhaps,  but  nothing  better. 
My  dear  lady,  you  must  remember  the  difference 
between  a  gourmand  and  a  gourmet.  One,  the 
gourmand,  is  a  crude  product,  and  would  prefer 
my  cook.  The  gourmet,  who  is  a  critic  by  profes- 
sion, would  certainly  prefer  yours." 

It  was  arranged  that  Annette  and  Crane  should 
dine  with  the  Senator  to  meet  a  large  party  the 
next  week.  If  Crane  should  be  found  to  have  an 
engagement,  Annette  was  to  notify  the  Senator. 

But  he  had  made  none.    When  he  returned  from 

the  House  that  evening,   at   six  o'clock,  Annette 

told  him  of  the  Senator's  visit  and  invitation,  and, 

as  ever  since  the  summer,  as  soon  as  Senator  Bick- 

[273] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
nell's  name  was  mentioned,  a  look  of  guilt  and 
shame  came  upon  Crane's  expressive  and  mobile 
face.  There  was,  however,  no  ground  for  declin- 
ing, and,  besides,  had  he  not  agreed  to  keep  on  the 
best  possible  terms  with  Senator  Bicknell  until — 
until  the  time  came  to  betray  him?  And  as  he 
would  be  obliged  to  meet  Senator  Bicknell  socially 
many  times  in  the  two  years  he  would  be  plot- 
ting against  him,  Crane  had  no  object  in  avoiding 
him  now ;  but  in  meeting  him,  Crane  had  the  grace 
to  suffer  pain. 

On  the  night  of  the  dinner,  Annette,  arrayed 
in  her  white  crepe,  was  among  the  prettiest  women 
present.  It  was  a  very  large  dinner,  extremely 
magnificent,  and  made  up  of  important  persons, 
but  Annette  Crane  was  by  no  means  unobserved  or 
unadmired.  Crane  was  forced  to  see  that.  She  was 
placed  near  to  Senator  Bicknell,  and  he  paid  her  a 
degree  of  kind  attention  which  would  have  been 
flattering  to  any  woman. 

When  the  dinner  was  over,  and  the  gentlemen 

were  about  joining  the  ladies  in  the  superb  Louis 

Seize   drawing-room,    Senator   Bicknell    whispered 

to  Crane  as  they  passed  from  the  Louis  Quatorze 

[274] 


WHAT    IS    IT    TO    BE    HONEST? 
dining-room,  "Remain  half  an  hour  after  the  oth- 
ers leave." 

Crane  started — had  the  Senator  heard  any- 
thing? He  reassured  himself  by  remembering  that 
the  Senator  would  not  attack  him,  an  invited  guest, 
and  in  the  presence  of  his  wife.  But  the  thought 
of  a  private  interview  with  Senator  Bicknell  on  any 
subject  was  disquieting  to  Crane. 

When  the  last  carriage  had  driven  off,  and  only 
Crane  and  Annette  remained,  Senator  Bicknell 
said: 

"Come  into  my  den;  and,  as  I  propose  to  take 
Mrs.  Crane  into  my  confidence,  on  account  of  the 
extraordinary  political  capacity  she  manifested  at 
my  visit  to  Circleville,  I  shall  ask  her  to  let  us  smoke 
while  I  unfold  a  scheme  to  you." 

The  den  was  a  small,  luxurious  room,  in  the  Louis 
Quinze  style,  and  fit  to  harbour  Madame  Pompa- 
dour herself.  It  was  shaded  by  opalescent  lamps, 
Turkish  rugs  covered  the  parquet  floor,  and  pic- 
tures and  bric-a-brac  worthy  of  a  palace  were  to 
be  found  there.  Some  people  thought  that  the  Sen- 
ator's den  was  one  of  the  causes  of  the  weakening 
of  his  political  power.  Many  rural  legislators 
[275] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
reckoned  his  "fixin's"  as  wicked,  and  were  only  rec- 
onciled by  hearing  of  the  prices  paid  by  the 
Senator  for  Percheron  horses  and  Jersey  heif- 
ers. The  Senator  did  not  care  a  rap  for  either 
Percherons  or  Jerseys,  and  scarcely  knew  a  Per- 
cheron horse  from  a  Jersey  cow,  but  it  was  a  conces- 
sion to  the  rural  statesmen,  and  he  wisely  reckoned 
these  bucolic  luxuries  in  his  political  expenses. 
Seated  before  a  fire  of  aromatic  wood,  Senator 
Bicknell,  offering  a  choice  cigar  to  Crane,  and  tak- 
ing one  himself,  began  to  unfold  his  scheme.  An- 
nette, her  white  gown  brought  into  high  relief  by 
a  ruby  lamp  swinging  overhead,  sat  silent  and  list- 
ened. She  did  not,  apparently,  watch  her  hus- 
band's face,  but  she  knew  every  expression  which 
passed  over  it,  and  could  have  interpreted  it,  as  well 
as  every  tone  of  his  voice. 

"To  come  to  the  point,"  said  the  Senator,  bland- 
ly, "I  am  one  of  a  number  of  gentlemen  interested 
in  a  deal  of  about  two  million  acres  of  land  in  Tex- 
as. We  have  had  an  offer  to  sell  our  holdings  and 
we  have  determined  to  accept.  Part  of  the  pur- 
chase-money is  to  be  paid  in  cash,  and  there  is  also 
a  transfer  of  property  contemplated  for  about  a 
[276] 


WHAT  IS  IT  TO  BE  HONEST? 
million  of  dollars.  Our  attorneys  are  in  Chicago, 
but  meanwhile  we  want  a  man  to  go  down  to  Texas 
once  in  a  while  and  see  how  things  are  coming  on, 
and  attend  to  some  matters  of  detail  which  I  will 
state  later  on.  The  whole  matter  will  hardly  be 
settled  under  a  year.  We  propose  to  pay  a  fee  of 
ten  thousand  dollars  and  a  small  commission.  I 
should  say  there  was  something  like  twenty  thou- 
sand dollars  in  it  for  the  right  man.  Several,  of 
course,  have  been  suggested,  but  you  know,  Mr. 
Crane,  I  am  like  John  Adams  was  about  New  Eng- 
land men — there  never  was  an  office  existing  or 
created  during  John  Adams's  time  that  he  hadn't 
a  constituent  ready  for  it.  So,  when  the  necessity 
for  a  man  for  this  work  became  evident,  I  suggest- 
ed I  had  a  constituent,  likewise  a  colleague,  in  the 
lower  House,  who  could  manage  the  job  if  he  would, 
and  mentioned  your  name." 

Twenty  thousand  dollars!  It  seemed  to  Crane 
an  enormous  sum.  Then  he  heard  Senator  Bick- 
nell's  voice  continuing : 

"It  would  oblige  you  to  take  a  trip  to  Texas 
during  the  Christmas  recess,  and  you  would  have  to 
spend  two  or  three  months  down  there  next  sum- 
[277] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
mer,  but  I  am  persuaded  we  shall  reach  an  early  ad- 
journment, so  it  would  not  necessarily  interfere 
with  you  in  any  way.  Besides,  it  might  be  useful 
to  you  in  other  ways,  and  it  would  be  decidedly  use- 
ful to  me.  It  would  show  the  people  in  the  State 
that  you  and  I  are  working  well  together  in  har- 
ness, and  God  knows  I  need  some  assurances  of  the 
sort  to  be  given!  That  scoundrel,  Governor  San- 
ders, has  been  knifing  me  right  and  left  all  over  the 
State,  and  I  look  for  trouble  both  at  the  convention 
next  summer  and  when  I  am  up  for  re-election  a 
year  and  a  half  from  now." 

Crane  remained  silent  a  minute  or  two  and  grew 
pale.  Senator  Bicknell  thought  he  was  a  little 
overcome  at  what  was  really  a  very  magnificent  offer 
to  a  man  in  his  situation  in  life. 

Annette,  who  had  taken  in,  with  perfect  intelli- 
gence, all  Senator  Bicknell  was  saying,  kept  her 
eyes  away  from  her  husband.  If  he  were  in  league 
with  Governor  Sanders 

Crane    was    not    only    overcome,    he    was    over- 
whelmed.    The  thought  came  crashing  through  his 
brain,  "This  is  the  man  I  am  secretly  trying  to  de- 
stroy."    Every  word  the  Senator  uttered  seemed 
[278] 


WHAT  IS  IT  TO  BE  HONEST? 
to  have  the  force  of  a  thousand  voices.  "That 
scoundrel,  Sanders."  Yes,  Sanders  was  a  scoundrel, 
but  he  had  never  pretended  to  be  a  friend  of  Sen- 
ator Bicknell's,  nor  was  he  indebted  to  the  Senator 
for  anything.  Their  warfare  had  been  open  and 
above-board,  while  his — oh,  God !  Crane  could  have 
cried  aloud  in  his  torture  when  he  recalled  the 
league  with  hell  into  which  he  had  entered.  His 
head  was  reeling,  he  heard  the  Senator's  voice  afar 
off;  the  ruby  light  falling  upon  Annette,  in  her 
shining  white  gown,  seemed  to  be  a  hundred  miles 
away.  Yet,  with  a  calm  voice,  and  with  only  a 
slight  tremor  of  his  hands,  Crane  answered : 

"I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  You 
have  made  me  a  very  splendid  proposition ;  twenty 
thousand  dollars  to  a  rural  Congressman  is  a  great 
deal  of  money,  and  as  for  the  confidence  you  show 
in  me,  I  feel  it  more  than  I  can  express." 

He  was  conscious  that  he  was  displaying  won- 
derful nerve;  when  he  began  to  speak  he  scarcely 
knew  whether  he  could  get  through  with  a  single 
sentence,  but  he  had  spoken  with  tolerable  ease  and 
composure.  Of  course,  he  must  appear  as  if  he 
would  accept ;  he  could  not  on  the  spur  of  the  mo- 
[279] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
ment  devise  any  plausible  refusal;  he  must  have 
time  to  think;  but  it  was  utterly  impossible  that 
he  should  consider  the  matter  for  a  moment. 
He  was  not  yet  bad  enough  for  that.  If  only  he  had 
remained  honest!  For  nothing  brings  home  a 
man's  evil-doing  to  him  more  than  when  he  sees 
the  result  in  a  concrete  form.  His  wrong-doing 
comes  out  of  the  regions  of  mind  and  morals, 
and  becomes  a  tangible  and  visible  thing,  like  an 
incarnate  devil.  He  realises  his  sin  when  he  receives 
the  wages  of  sin. 

Annette  listened  to  every  note  in  Crane's  voice, 
and  heard  there  falseness.  He  was  not  happy,  not 
grateful  for  the  offer.  But  she,  at  least,  thanked 
Senator  Bicknell  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart  for 
his  kind  wish  to  benefit  them.  When  he  finished 
speaking  she  leaned  toward  him  and  laid  her  hand 
on  his,  while  her  eyes  glowed  with  a  lambent  light. 

"I  thank  you — I  thank  you,  not  only  for  my  hus- 
band and  myself,  but  for  our  little  children.  It 
means  an  education  for  them — many  things  their 
father  and  I  have  longed  that  we  might  give  them 
when  they  are  older,  but  feared  we  could  not." 
[280] 


WHAT    IS    IT    TO    BE    HONEST? 

Senator  Bicknell  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips  and 
kissed  it  gallantly. 

"My  dear  lady,"  he  said,  "I  am  glad  to  oblige 
your  husband,  and  I  believe  he  will  render  a  full 
equivalent  for  whatever  he  makes  out  of  this  trans- 
action. And  I  have  frankly  told  him  that  I  think 
our  co-operation  in  business  will  be  a  good  thing 
for  me  politically.  But  the  day  I  spent  at  your 
house,  the  kind  hospitality  to  your  husband's 
friend,  the  sweetness  of  your  home,  the  excellent 
behaviour  of  your  children,  quickened  very  much 
the  interest  I  felt  in  Mr.  Crane,  and  it  was  a  factor 
in  my  effort  to  serve  him.  Come  now,  Crane,"  said 
the  Senator,  tapping  him  on  the  shoulder,  "all  I 
ask  is  that  when  I  am  up  for  re-election,  if  you 
choose  to  contest  the  election  with  me,  you  will 
please  leave  Mrs.  Crane  at  home.  If  ever  she  enters 
into  the  campaign,  I  am  lost." 

"She  will  enter  the  campaign,  but  it  will  be  for 
you,"  replied  Annette. 

Crane  then  pulled  himself  together,  and  again 
expressed  his  appreciation  of  Senator  Bicknell's 
kindness,  and  asked  when  they  could  meet  to  go  into 
[281] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

details  of  the  affair — a  meeting  at  which  Crane  was 
determined  to  decline  the  benefits  offered  him. 

"Oh,  some  day  next  week.  I'll  let  you  know 
when  I  hear  from  Chicago,"  replied  the  Senator, 
and  after  a  little  more  desultory  talk  the  Cranes 
rose  to  go. 

"I  took  the  liberty  of  sending  your  carriage 
away,  and  my  chauffeur  will  take  you  home,"  said 
the  Senator,  mindful  of  attentions  to  a  pretty  and 
pleasing  woman. 

In  a  little  while  Annette  and  Crane  were  seated 
in  the  Senator's  automobile,  and  rushing  through 
the  frosty  December  night  toward  home. 


[282] 


Chapter  Thirteen 

WAE  AND  PEACE 

Crane  remained  perfectly  silent.  He  did  not  speak 
a  word  from  the  time  they  left  Senator  Bicknell's 
house  until  they  reached  home.  Annette  said  noth- 
ing to  him.  The  conviction  was  deepening  in  her 
mind  that  her  husband  had  secretly  behaved  ill  to 
Senator  Bicknell.  Crane  had  revealed  unconscious- 
ly that  night  many  things  which  Senator  Bicknell 
had  not  understood,  but  which  Annette  understood 
only  too  well.  The  slight  agitation  and  discom- 
posure which  Crane  had  shown  was  not  the  mere 
shock  of  a  grateful  surprise.  Annette  detected 
that  every  word  Crane  had  uttered  to  Senator  Bick- 
nell was  false ;  that  his  apparent  acceptance  of  the 
offer  was  false.  The  money  was  much — much  to 
her ;  the  loss  of  it,  after  it  had  been  held  up  to  her 
gaze,  would  be  much ;  but  the  loss  of  Crane's  integ- 
[283] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
rity — ah,  could  that  but  be  preserved,  she  would 
go  out  and  dig  for  him  and  for  her  children! 
She  would  slave,  she  would  starve,  she  would  do  any- 
thing that  any  woman  ever  did,  that  she  might  feel 
her  children  were  the  children  of  an  honest  man. 
She  remembered  there  was  such  a  thing  as  heredity, 
and  she  trembled  at  the  thought  that,  if  Crane  were 
really  a  scoundrel,  as  Senator  Bicknell  had  said 
Governor  Sanders  was,  her  little  black-eyed  Roger 
might  be  a  scoundrel,  too,  before  he  died.  These 
thoughts,  surging  through  her  mind,  kept  her 
silent. 

Crane  felt  her  silence  to  be  ominous  as  she  felt 
his  to  be.  As  he  sat  dumb,  by  her  side,  his  agita- 
tion increased  instead  of  diminishing.  On  what 
possible  ground  could  he  excuse  to  Annette,  as  well 
as  Senator  Bicknell,  his  declination  of  such  an 
offer?  But  he  could  not  accept  it — he  was  not  yet 
a  thorough  villain.  Had  he  been  a  free  agent,  he 
would  have  preferred  the  splendid  vista  of  power 
and  preferment  opened  to  him  by  his  deal  with 
Sanders  to  more  money  even  than  what  was  offered 
him;  but  he  was  not  a  free  agent.  He  had  prom- 
ised Sanders,  and  if  his  nerve  failed  him  he  would 
[284] 


WAR    AND    PEACE 

be  ruined  by  Sanders  politically,  and  perhaps  per- 
sonally as  well.  True,  Sanders  did  not  have  a  line 
of  his  writing — such  agreements  as  theirs  are  not 
put  on  paper — nor  had  he,  so  far,  borrowed  a  dol- 
lar from  Sanders,  although  he  expected  to  do  so 
the  first  of  the  year  when  his  notes  fell  due. 

While  he  was  thinking  these  thoughts,  he  found 
himself  before  the  door  of  the  great  caravanserai 
where  they  lived,  and  presently  he  was  sitting 
in  their  little  drawing-room  alone  at  last,  and  face 
to  face  with  the  strange  circumstances  which  had 
befallen  him.  He  sat  in  a  great  arm-chair  drawn 
up  to  the  embers  of  the  fire.  On  the  table  at  his 
elbow  a  light  was  burning.  He  heard  Annette  go 
into  the  children's  room  and  remain  five  minutes — 
she  always  said  a  little  prayer  above  their  cribs 
every  night  before  she  slept — then  she  went  into 
her  own  room. 

She  turned  on  the  light  by  her  dressing-table, 
and  sat  down  to  take  off  her  few  simple  ornaments 
and  the  ribbon-bow  in  her  hair.  The  face  that  met 
her  gaze  in  the  mirror  looked  so  strange  that  it 
frightened  her.  Yes,  like  Crane  himself,  she  had 
been  surprised  at  her  own  self-control.  But  she 
[285] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

knew  as  well  as  she  knew  she  was  alive  that  Crane, 
in  some  way,  had  betrayed  Senator  Bicknell,  the 
man  who,  after  honestly  admitting  that  Crane 
could  serve  him,  was  yet  animated  by  a  sincere  wish 
to  benefit  Crane ;  who  had  given  Crane  his  first  polit- 
ical start  in  life,  and  had  treated  him  with  unvary- 
ing kindness  ever  since. 

The  more  she  thought  over  what  had  happened 
that  evening,  the  more  acute  became  her  fear  and 
her  pain.  She  stopped  in  her  employment,  and,  lean- 
ing upon  her  arms,  sat  motionless  for  a  long  time. 
Suddenly,  the  distant  chiming  of  a  clock  told  her 
it  was  midnight.  She  roused  herself,  and  then,  fol- 
lowing an  influence  stronger  than  herself,  went  into 
the  next  room,  where  Crane  had  been  going 
through  his  agony  alone.  As  she  approached  him, 
he  raised  a  pale  and  conscience-stricken  face  to 
hers,  but  it  was  quite  calm.  He  had  fought  the 
battle  out,  and  there  was  no  longer  a  conflict  within 
him. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  as  if  continuing  out  aloud  a  con- 
secutive train  of  thought,  "I  should  be  very  grate- 
ful to  you — I  am  grateful  to  you.  No  doubt,  Sen- 
[286] 


WAR    AND    PEACE 

ator  Bicknell  was  influenced  very  much  in  what  he 
did  by  the  admiration  and  respect  he  has  for  you. 
But  it  only  makes  it  the  harder  for  me." 

"There  should  be  no  question  of  gratitude  be- 
tween you  and  me,"  replied  Annette,  coming  closer 
to  him. 

"There  is  much — much.  I  have  not  realised 
until  within  the  last  few  months  how  much  I  really 
owe  you — but  why  do  I  say  months?  I  might  say 
the  last  few  hours — the  last  few  minutes — and  I 
have  also  realised  how  much  more  I  might  have 
owed  you,  for  I  am  beginning  to  think  that  few 
women  are  as  well  adapted  as  you  are  for  the  wife 
of  a  man  like  me.  Not  all  women  would  have  borne 
with  poverty  and  seclusion  as  you  have  done." 

A  deep  blush  suffused  Annette's  face.  The  pov- 
erty and  seclusion  had  been  in  a  way  forced  upon 
her  by  him,  but,  being  a  woman  of  invincible  discre- 
tion, she  did  not  put  her  resentment  into  sarcastic 
words,  or  words  at  all.  She  stood  by  him  silently, 
and,  seeing  that  Crane  was  striving  to  speak, 
awaited  his  words  gently,  laying  her  free  hand  on 
his  shoulder. 

[287] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
At   last   it   came — a    full    confession — made    in 
broken  words  and  phrases,  but  of  which  Annette 
understood  every  word. 

"I  could  have  stood  anything  but  his  kindness," 
said  Crane,  with  a  pale  face  of  woe.  "That  un- 
nerved me  completely.  I  made  up  my  mind  I  could 
not  accept  the  money,  and  then  it  occurred  to  me 
that  you  had  a  right  to  be  consulted,  and  imme- 
diately I  felt  a  conviction  as  loud  as  a  clap  of  thun- 
der, as  penetrating  as  lightning,  that  you  would 
never  in  the  world  let  me  accept  that  money.  Ah, 
Annette,  what  a  thing  it  is  to  have  an  upright  wife ! 
To  feel  that  however  weak  and  wavering  a  man 
may  be,  that  half  of  his  soul,  of  his  heart,  of  his 
possessions,  the  half  owner  of  his  children,  stands 
like  a  rock  for  truth  and  honesty !  Thorndyke 
was  saying  something  to  me  the  other  day  about 
a  man  being  upright  instead  of  being  made  to  be 
upright.  I  tell  you,  there  are  many  men  who  can  be 
made  good  or  bad — and  I  am  one  of  them — by 
their  wives.  Many  a  poor  wretch  to-day  is  a  rascal 
who  might  have  led  an  honest  and  respected  life 
if  but  he  had  had  a  high-minded  wife  like  you. 
It  is  you  who  have  saved  me,  and  what  a  miserable 
[288] 


WAR    AND    PEACE 

return  have  I  made  you  for  all  you  have  done  for 
me!" 

"What  you  have  just  said  repays  me  for  all,  be- 
cause, you  know,  I  have  always  loved  you — better 
than  you  cared  to  know,  or  than  I  cared  to  show 
during  the  last  few  years,"  Annette  answered,  in  a 
calm  voice. 

Crane  rose  and  opened  his  arms  to  her.  It  was 
the  sweetest  moment  of  their  lives.  Shameful  and 
dishonourable  as  Crane's  course  had  been,  here  was 
one  person  who  loved  him,  believed  in  him,  and,  oh, 
wonder  of  love  and  faith,  still  honoured  and  trusted 
him! 

After  their  first  rapture  of  love  and  forgiveness, 
action  occurred  to  Annette's  practical  mind. 

"Well,  then,"  she  said,  as  if  a  course  of  conduct 
had  at  once  been  revealed  to  her,  "you  must  at 
once  withdraw  from  your  agreement  with  Governor 
Sanders.  Of  course,  he  will  do  everything  he  can 
to  defeat  you " 

"And  he  will." 

"And  we  shall  have  to  go  back  to  Circle ville  and 
begin  life  over  again.     But  I  am  sure  you  can  do 
well  at  your  profession,  and,  remember,  there  is  as 
[289] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
much  chance  for  an  ambitious  man  in  law  as  in 
politics." 

"Yes,  but  you  can't  imagine  how  the  life  gets 
hold  of  one.  It  seems  like  death  to  me  to  leave 
Congress  —  and  when  I  was  steadily  rising,  too  — 
and  to  be  driven  out  ignominiously  by  a  creature 
like  Sanders  !  But  I  must  do  it  ;  you  would  not  let 
me  do  otherwise." 

"Yes;  I  would  not  let  you  do  otherwise.  Then 
you  must  go  to  Senator  Bicknell  and  tell  him 
all." 

"Do    you   think    I   should?      Do   you   think   I 


"Oh,  yes.  He  must  know  it  some  time.  He  must 
know  why  you  decline  this  scheme  he  has  arranged 
to  benefit  you.  You  must  go  to  him  early  to-mor- 
row morning." 

Crane  looked  at  his  watch. 

"It  is  half-past  twelve  —  he  always  sits  up  until 
two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

"Then  go  now." 

"He  will  think  my  repentance  a  mere  emotion  — 
he  will  believe  that  my  character  was  shown  in  my 
agreement  with  Sanders." 

[290] 


WAR    AND    PEACE 

"No  matter." 

"Yes,  no  matter." 

Annette  gave  him  his  coat  and  hat  and  gloves. 
He  turned  to  kiss  her,  and  instinctively  he  removed 
his  hat  with  a  respect  that  approached  reverence. 
This  pretty  pebble  which  he  had  so  lightly  re- 
garded had  proved  to  be  a  jewel  of  great  price. 

Two  hours  later  Crane  re-entered  the  house  and 
went  softly  to  his  own  rooms.  As  he  noiselessly 
opened  the  door  of  the  drawing-room  he  saw  that 
Annette  had  fallen  asleep  in  the  great  chair  in 
which  she  had  found  him.  She  had  thrown  a  fur 
cape  around  her  bare  neck  and  arms,  but  it  had 
slipped  partly  away,  leaving  her  white  throat  ex- 
posed. There  were  traces  of  tears  upon  her  cheeks, 
but  her  face,  though  mournful,  was  placid — and 
how  young  she  looked !  It  seemed  impossible  that 
she  should  be  the  mother  of  two  children  as  old  as 
Roger  and  Elizabeth. 

As  Crane  approached  her  quietly,  she  stirred, 
opened  her  eyes,  and  sat  up,  in  full  possession  of 
her  wits.  Crane  drew  a  chair  up  and  took  both  her 
hands  in  his. 

"I  haven't  felt  so  at  ease  in  my  mind  since  the 
[291] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
day  last  summer  that  I  first  met  Governor  Sanders. 
I  have  repented  and  confessed." 

"That  is  good,"  said  Annette,  in  a  clear  voice. 

"I  found  Senator  Bicknell  just  where  I  had  left 
him,  in  his  den ;  I  told  him  the  whole  story — how  I 
had  yielded,  because  I  was  poor  and  ambitious, 
where  a  better  man  would  have  resisted.  I  told  him 
there  was  no  fear  of  my  falling  away  this  time; 
that  you  would  not  let  me;  and  if  I  had  kept  you 
with  me,  and  had  taken  you  more  into  my  confi- 
dence, I  believe  I  should  never  have  entered  into  this 
damnable  bargain  with  Sanders.  The  Senator  was 
staggered  at  first.  I  don't  believe  the  slightest  idea 
of  my  being  disloyal  to  him  had  entered  his  head, 
but  as  soon  as  he  recovered  from  the  first  shock  he 
behaved  nobly.  I  told  him  that  I  had  not  written 
a  line  to  Sanders,  he  had  not  loaned  me  a  penny, 
although  I  had  expected  to  call  upon  him  the  first 
of  January.  Then  Senator  Bicknell  said : 

"  'So,  you  have  not  committed  any  overt  act 
against  me?' 

"  'No,'  I  said,  'but  chiefly  because  the  time  was 
not  ripe.' 

"  'You  have,  so  far,  only  agreed  to  betray  me?' 
[292] 


WAR    AND    PEACE 

"I  said  yes,  but  that  was  crime  enough.  He  re- 
flected a  while,  and  then  he  held  out  his  hand  and 
said: 

"  'Let  bygones  be  bygones.  Sanders  will  make 
you  pay  for  this,  and  that  will  be  punishment 
enough.  But  I  am  ready  and  willing  to  believe 
that,  no  matter  how  much  you  might  have  agreed 
to  knife  me,  when  the  time  came  you  wouldn't  have 
done  it.  At  the  first  moment  we  meet  in  private, 
at  the  first  hint  of  kindness  on  my  part,  your  reso- 
lution to  do  me  wrong  melts  away.  That  must 
count.' 

"  'And  something  else,'  I  said.  'Of  course,  I 
can't  accept  the  benefit  you  thought  to  confer  on 
me.  That  would  invalidate  all.' 

"'What  does  your  wife  say  to  this?'  he  said. 
'You  remember  the  offer  was  made  in  her  presence. 
Or  does  she  know  that  you  wish  to  refuse  it?' 

"  'My  wife  would  not  let  me  take  it  if  I  wished 
to,'  I  replied.  'She  is  a  much  more  high-minded 
person  than  I  am  or  ever  can  be.' 

"  'She  must  indeed  be  high-minded,'  he  said, 
'and  you  are  right  in  saying  that  to  accept  it 
would  invalidate  everything.  I  am  of  the  opinion 
[293] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

that  your  wife  has  seen  clearly  in  this  instance. 
But' — here  he  took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the 
floor — 'I  don't  think  it  would  invalidate  my  promot- 
ing your  candidacy  before  the  Legislature  in  Jan- 
uary. It  seems  to  me  now  to  be  the  best  thing  for 
both  of  us.  The  fight  with  Sanders  has  got  to 
come,  and  the  sooner  the  better,  so  that  the  field 
can  be  cleared  for  my  own  fight  a  year  and  a  half 
from  now.  Yes,  it  is  decidedly  best.  You  may  re- 
call I  indicated  last  spring  that  I  would  support 
your  senatorial  aspirations  in  certain  contingen- 
cies. These  contingencies  have  come  to  pass.  I 
doubt  if  we  can  save  the  State  to  the  party  with- 
out joining  forces  now.' 

"Then  I  told  him  that  I  owed  money,  and  could 
hardly  support  the  position  of  a  Senator  here  with 
the  salary,  less  what  I  was  obliged  to  pay  in  in- 
terest." 

"  'Nonsense,'  he  said ;  'turn  your  salary  over  to 
your  wife;  she  is  a  woman  of  uncommonly  sound 
sense,  a  good  manager — that  I  saw  in  her  house. 
Of  course  you  can't  go  into  society  on  less  than 
your  salary,  but  you  can  live  comfortably  and  re- 
spectably. And  let  me  tell  you,  this  town  is  full 
[294] 


WAR    AND    PEACE 

of  big  houses  which  caused  the  Senators  who  built 
them  to  lose  their  elections.  It  doesn't  hurt  a  man 
with  his  constituents  in  the  least  to  live  simply. 
Some  of  the  gentlemen  from  the  rural  districts 
have  complained  bitterly  of  this  little  place ' 

"And  then,  after  more  talk,  everything  was  set- 
tled. I  wasn't  to  write  to  Sanders,  of  course,  but 
to  go  and  see  him.  Sanders  wouldn't  dare  to  pro- 
claim what  we  agreed  to  do,  but  he  will  fight  me 
with  every  weapon  at  his  command.  I  shouldn't 
much  care  how  things  went — that  is,  so  I  feel  now 
— except  for  Senator  Bicknell,  but  every  blow  at 
Sanders  helps  the  Senator,  and  I  shall  fight  for 
him  as  long  as  breath  warms  my  body.  When  we 
parted  I  was  much  overcome,  and  I  think  Senator 
Bicknell  was,  too.  Coming  home,  it  occurred  to  me 
how  well  you  had  managed  on  the  pittance  I  al- 
lowed you  at  Circleville." 

"It  was  not  much,  but  it  could  hardly  be  called  a 
pittance,"  replied  Annette,  smiling  through  her 
tears,  for  the  stress  of  emotion  under  which  she  had 
suffered  had  found  its  natural  vent  at  last,  and  she 
was  weeping  a  little.  But  they  were  happy  tears. 
Crane  had  reached  the  turn  in  life  when  it  was  to 
[295] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
be  determined  whether  God  or  the  devil  should  be 
his  master,  and  he  had  turned  his  back  on  Satan. 
He  took  his  wife  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  tenderly 
and  reverently.  No  one  knew  better  then  than  he 
the  moral  beauty,  the  power  to  charm,  to  sustain, 
to  lead  forward,  of  the  woman  he  had  not  thought 
worthy  to  stand  by  him  in  Washington. 


The  next  morning  early,  Crane  started  West. 
He  had  his  fateful  interview  with  Sanders  and  re- 
turned to  Washington  within  a  week.  Sanders's 
words  had  been  few,  but  full  of  meaning. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "I  don't  take  any  stock  in 
this  awakening  of  conscience  business.  You  think 
Bicknell  can  serve  you  better  than  I  can.  Very 
well.  We  will  see." 

Suddenly,  and  apparently  without  volition, 
Crane's  right  arm  shot  out  and  his  open  palm 
struck  Sanders's  cheek.  The  Governor,  as  quick 
as  thought,  hit  back.  He  was  a  brute,  but  not  a 
coward.  Then  both  men  came  to  their  senses,  and, 
hating  each  other  worse  than  ever,  each  was 
ashamed  of  his  violence. 

[296] 


WAR    AND    PEACE 

The  Governor,  taking  out  his  handkerchief, 
coolly  wiped  the  blood  from  his  nose,  and  said : 

"I  don't  care  to  engage  in  a  fist  fight  with  you. 
We  can  settle  all  our  quarrels  when  the  Legislature 
meets.  You  will  need  all  your  courage  then." 

When  Crane  returned  to  Washington,  he  went 
straight  to  Senator  Bicknell  and  told  him  all. 

"All  right,"  replied  the  Senator,  as  Governor 
Sanders  had  said.  "This  is  my  fight  now,"  and 
straightway  the  Senator  took  the  midnight  train 
for  the  State  capital  to  pull  off  his  coat  and  do 
yeoman's  work  for  Crane,  and  incidentally  for  him- 
self. 

The  month  of  December  was  bright  and  beauti- 
ful all  the  way  through,  and  the  sunshine  lasted 
into  January.  Thorndyke  thought  he  had  not 
been  so  nearly  happy  for  a  long  time.  He  saw 
Constance  often,  and  she  was  beautifully  kind  to 
him.  He  scarcely  went  into  society  at  all,  and  had 
the  hardihood  to  decline  an  invitation  to  one  of  the 
Secretary  of  State's  small  dinners  on  the  compre- 
hensive excuse  of  "a  previous  engagement,"  which 
Mrs.  Hill-Smith,  who  had  invited  him,  did  not  be- 
lieve in  the  least ;  and  when  she  had  plaintively  men- 
[297] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
tioned  the  names  of  various  English,  French,  Rus- 
sian, Austrian,  and  German  diplomats  who  were  to 
be  present,  Thorndyke  had  replied  in  a   manner 
which  mightily  discomposed  Mrs.  Hill-Smith: 

"Oh,  then,  you  won't  miss  a  stray  American  or 
two !" 

If  Mrs.  Hill-Smith  had  had  her  way,  she  would 
have  missed  every  American  invited. 

Thorndyke  saw  much  of  the  Cranes  and  of  the 
children,  who  showered  their  favour  upon  him.  He 
could  not  but  be  struck  by  the  new  note  in  Crane — 
something  subdued,  yet  full  of  hope — and  he  had 
quite  lost  that  look  of  harassment  and  dejection 
which,  on  first  meeting  him,  had  struck  Thorndyke. 
Crane  was  normally  a  lover  of  fighting,  and,  al- 
though Senator  Bicknell,  for  strategic  reasons, 
chose  to  keep  him  in  Washington  while  the  prelimi- 
naries to  the  senatorial  fight  were  raging,  yet  he 
delivered  some  good  shots  at  long  range,  and  it  be- 
gan to  look  as  if  he  might  be  elected  for  the  short 
term  in  spite  of  Governor  Sanders.  The  National 
Committee  was  not  indifferent  to  this  fight,  and 
Senator  Bicknell  went  into  it  with  all  his  old-time 
vigour.  He  worked,  ate  and  drank,  waked  and 
[298] 


WAR    AND    PEACE 

slept,  with  members  of  the  Legislature  for  three 
weeks  before  the  election  came  off.  It  was  a  stu- 
pendous battle,  and  neither  side  got  any  odds  in 
the  betting. 

During  the  latter  part  of  the  Christmas  recess, 
Thorndyke  went  north  to  pay  his  sister,  Elizabeth, 
a  visit.  Her  first  words  to  him  were : 

"Why,  Geoffrey,  how  young  you  look!" 

And  everybody  who  met  him  told  him  he  looked 
young,  or  looked  well,  or  looked  prosperous,  and 
one  horny-handed  old  constituent  hazarded  the 
opinion  that  Mr.  Thorndyke  was  "thinkin'  o'  git- 
tin'  spliced."  It  was  all  because  Constance  Mait- 
land  had  been  kind  to  him. 

On  his  way  back  to  Washington  he  found  him- 
self in  the  same  car  with  James  Brentwood  Baldwin, 
Junior,  who  was  coming  home  to  be  nursed  and 
taken  to  Palm  Beach  after  an  attack  of  the  chicken- 
pox.  This  fifteen-year-old  youth  was  in  charge  of 
a  valet  who  attended  to  him  assiduously,  and  even 
went  into  the  dining-car  with  him  to  see  that  he  ex- 
ercised due  prudence  with  regard  to  his  diet.  This, 
however,  was  superfluous,  as  the  scion  of  the  house 
of  Baldwin  was  the  very  epitome  of  prudence,  and 
[299] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

turned  away  from  entrees,  sweets,  and  ices  with  a 
degree  of  virtue  which,  to  Thorndyke,  dining  at 
the  same  table  with  him,  seemed  superhuman  in  a 
boy  of  any  age.  Thorndyke  watched  the  Baldwin 
boy  curiously ;  it  was  one  of  the  most  deadly  and 
fascinating  phases  of  the  whole  newly-rich  question 
to  him,  how  the  children  of  the  newly  rich  were 
brought  up.  He  observed  in  the  Baldwin  boy  a  total 
lack  of  the  normal  faults  and  virtues  of  the  normal 
boy.  Young  Baldwin  eyed  Thorndyke  at  first  with 
suspicion,  but  Thorndyke,  wishing  to  examine  and 
classify  the  specimen  of  a  boy  before  him,  inti- 
mated that  he  was  acquainted  with  the  James 
Brentwood  Baldwins  in  Washington.  Then  James, 
Junior,  abandoned  something  of  his  hauteur.  He 
acknowledged  being  the  pupil  of  a  school  at  which 
Thorndyke  happened  to  know  the  fees  were  made 
puposely  so  high  as  to  exclude  any  but  the  sons  of 
the  very  rich.  They  had  an  Anglican  nomencla- 
ture, a  resident  chaplain,  and  the  spiritual  direction 
of  the  masters  as  well  as  the  pupils  was  attended  to 
by  the  Bishop  of  the  diocese — the  brother  of  the 
Secretary  of  State.  All  this  James,  Junior,  com- 
municated while  toying  with  his  rice-pudding,  and 
[300] 


WAR    AND    PEACE 

turning  an  eye  of  stern  disapproval  at  the  tutti- 
frutti  ice. 

"And  what  do  you  expect  to  be  when  you  grow 
up,  my  lad  ?"  asked  Thorndyke. 

"I  shall  be  a  philanthropist,"  replied  James, 
Junior,  with  dignity.  "I  shall  try  to  use  my 
wealth  as  a  means  of  benefiting  others.  I  am  presi- 
dent of  our  association  for  giving  Christmas  gifts 
to  poor  boys,  and  I  like  it  very  much.  We,  who 
have  superior  advantages,  should  try  and  extend  a 
helping  hand  to  others  less  fortunately  placed." 

Less  fortunately  placed!  Thorndyke  looked  at 
the  boy  with  the  deepest  commiseration,  and  pitied 
the  poor  children  of  the  rich. 

"You  can  learn  a  great  deal  from  a  poor  boy," 
said  he,  presently,  watching  the  boy's  solemn,  hand- 
some face.  He  might  have  been  a  hearty,  whole- 
some youngster,  this  grandson  of  Danny  Hogan's, 
had  he  but  been  given  a  chance.  "The  poor  boy  is 
the  normal  boy ;  a  boy  should  be  generally  dirty 
and  noisy;  he  should  occasionally  get  a  lecture 
from  his  mother  and  a  licking  from  his  father,  and 
a  black  eye  from  some  other  boy.  He  must  be  a 
fighter.  No  less  a  man  than  Paul  Jones  has  said 
[301] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 

that  he  never  saw  a  liar  who  would  fight,  or  a  fighter 
who  would  lie;  and  he  must  not  only  tell  the  truth 
himself,  but  be  ready  to  lick  any  other  boy  who  tells 
him  a  lie,  for  boys  are,  to  themselves,  a  law-making 
body,  and  must  enforce  their  own  laws." 

"That  is  not  the  way  of  the  boys  at  our  school," 
icily  replied  James  Brentwood  Baldwin,  Junior, 
rising  with  dignity  and  receiving  his  hat  from  the 
hand  of  his  valet. 

The  day  of  Thorndyke's  arrival  in  Washington 
he  was  walking  along  the  street  in  the  bright, 
sunny,  early  afternoon  of  winter.  He  stopped  to 
buy  an  afternoon  newspaper,  that  he  might  see  how 
the  balloting  for  Senator  was  going  in  Crane's 
State,  when  a  shout  aroused  him,  and  Letty  Standi- 
ford,  in  a  gorgeous  crimson  automobile,  with  Sen- 
ator Mince  Pie  Mulligan  by  her  side,  dashed  up  to 
the  sidewalk. 

"Mr.  Thorndyke,"  shrieked  Letty,  playfully 
pretending  she  meant  to  run  Thorndyke  down.  "I 
have  a  piece  of  news  for  you.  Look  out,  this  is  my 
new  red  devil — I  don't  mean  Senator  Mulligan,  but 
my  auto." 

"I  certainly  shall  look  out  when  you  are  around 
[302] 


WAR    AND    PEACE 

in  that  death-dealing  machine,"  replied  Thorn- 
dyke,  dodging  barely  in  time  to  save  his  legs. 
"What  is  your  news  ?" 

"Just  this.  Dad  gave  me  his  word  this  morn- 
ing that  he  would  not  be  a  candidate  for  re-election 
next  year.  I  went  after  the  doctors  myself,  and 
made  them  tell  me  the  truth  about  Dad — he's  the 
only  father  I've  got,  you  know.  And  they  all  told 
me  the  same  thing — that  if  he  could  slack  up  work, 
and  retire  at  the  end  of  his  term,  he  was  good  for 
twenty  years  more,  but  that  if  he  kept  at  the  grind, 
his  life  wasn't  worth  a  pin's  purchase.  Dad  wasn't 
scared  by  that,  but  when  I  told  him  that  I  should 
die  of  fright  and  distress  if  he  went  away  and  left 
me,  the  poor  old  thing  weakened,  and  said  he'd  de- 
cline a  re-election,  and — oh,  good  gracious!  He 
told  me  not  to  breathe  it  to  a  soul!  He  actually 
shook  his  finger  at  me  when  he  said  it.  Oh,  heav- 
ens !  If  you  or  Senator  Mulligan  give  me 
away " 

"Dad  will  shake  his  finger  at  you  again,"  replied 
Thorndyke,  laughing.  Nevertheless,  his  pulses 
had  started  off  at  a  great  rate. 

"It's  not  that — it's  not  that  I'm  afraid  of  him 
[303] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
— but  it  would  break  his  dear  old  heart  to  think 
I  had  disobeyed  him." 

Letty  Standiford,  as  she  said  this,  was  an  object 
for  angels  to  love,  in  spite  of  her  wild  air,  her 
mannish  hat  and  coat,  her  flying  and  dishevelled 
locks. 

"It  is  safe  with  me,"  said  Thorndyke,  gravely, 
and  Senator  Mulligan  spoke  up: 

"Divil  a  word  will  I  say  about  it.  I'm  too  much 
afraid  of  th'  ould  chap — and  of  you,  too,  Miss 
Letty." 

"Glad  to  hear  it,  Sinitor,"  replied  madcap  Letty, 
viciously  mimicking  the  Senator's  unfortunate  ac- 
cent, "and,  oh,  Mr.  Thorndyke,  have  you  heard 
that  Miss  Maitland  is  engaged  to  Mr.  Cathcart, 
the  navy  man,  who  is  always  hanging  around  her? 
It  was  announced  this  morning.  Good-bye." 

Letty  flashed  off,  with  a  bicycle  policeman  after 
her  full  tilt. 

Thorndyke  was  near  his  lodgings.  He  did  not 
know  how  he  got  there,  but  presently  he  found  him- 
self sitting  in  his  arm-chair  before  the  fire.  Two 
hours  later,  when  the  maid-servant  brought  him  a 
letter,  he  was  sitting  in  the  same  position. 
[304] 


WAR    AND    PEACE 

The  dusk  was  closing  in,  but  he  saw  that  the 
address  was  in  Constance  Maitland's  handwriting. 
Of  course  she  had  written  to  tell  him  of  her  engage- 
ment— it  was  kind  of  her  so  to  break  his  calamity 
to  him. 

The  letter  lay  unopened  for  half  an  hour.  Then, 
with  a  desperate  courage,  Thorndyke  tore  open  the 
envelope.  It  was  an  invitation  to  dinner  two  weeks 
hence.  It  was  unfeeling  of  her  to  do  this.  It  was 
ignoble  to  forget  that  dear,  lost  past  of  which  she 
had  often  spoken  to  him,  and  had  allowed  him 
freely  to  speak  to  her.  It  was  impossible  that  he 
should  accept ;  it  was  impossible  that  he  should 
voluntarily  meet  Constance  again,  except  for  one 
last  interview — that  final  leave-taking  which  is  like 
the  last  farewell  to  the  dying.  And  the  sooner  it 
was  over  the  better.  Thorndyke  pulled  himself  to- 
gether, and  made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  Constance 
at  once. 

As  he  walked  along  the  streets  in  the  sharp  air 
of  the  January  twilight,  everything  looked  un- 
familiar to  him.  His  interior  world  was  destroyed 
— engulfed.  Never  more  could  he  know  hope  or 
happiness ;  for  him  was  only  that  stolid  endurance 
[305] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
of  life  which  is  like  a  prisoner's  endurance  of  his 
cell  and  his  shackles. 

When  he  reached  Constance  Maitland's  door,  she 
was  at  home,  and  he  walked  into  the  familiar  draw- 
ing-room. She  was  sitting  on  the  great,  deep  sofa, 
with  no  light  but  that  of  the  blazing  wood  fire,  al- 
though it  was  quite  six  o'clock.  She  rose  as  Thorn- 
dyke  entered  and  greeted  him  gaily.  Her  medita- 
tions seemed  to  have  been  singularly  happy. 

Thorndyke  sat  down  on  the  sofa  by  her,  and,  as 
all  men  do  under  stress  of  feeling,  put  his  pain  into 
the  fewest  words  possible. 

"I  heard  this  afternoon,"  he  said,  in  a  strange, 
cold  voice,  "of  your  engagement  to  Cathcart." 

"Did  you?"  replied  Constance,  smiling  brightly. 
"From  whom,  pray?" 

"From  Miss  Standiford." 

"So  that  crazy  Letty  Standiford  goes  about  an- 
nouncing my  engagement!"  There  was  a  pause, 
and  then  Thorndyke  said,  in  the  same  strange,  cold 
voice : 

"Cathcart  is  an  admirable  man." 

"So  everybody  says,"  brightly  responded  Con- 
stance.   "Many  persons  have  assured  me  of  that." 
[306] 


WAR    AND    PEACE 

A  longer  pause  followed.  It  might  be  ungen- 
erous to  interject  a  note  of  pain  into  her  first  hap- 
piness, but  it  is  human  to  cry  out,  to  justify  one's 
self,  to  call  attention  to  the  gift,  when  one  has 
given  a  heart  and  a  soul. 

"If  Cathcart  can  give  you  even  a  part  of  the  for- 
tune you  will  lose  by  marrying  him,  he  is  right  to 
ask  you.  I  could  give  you  nothing.  And  so, 
although  I  have  loved  you  for  nineteen  years,  I 
could  not  ask  you  to  descend  from  wealth  to  pov- 
erty with  me." 

"I  shall  not  lose,  perhaps,  as  much  as  you  think 
by  marrying  an  American,"  replied  Constance  to 
this,  adjusting  her  draperies  in  the  light  of  the  fire, 
which  played  over  her  face.  How  bright,  how  smil- 
ing she  was !  Her  dark  eyes  shone,  and  the  faint 
dimple  in  her  cheek  kept  coming  and  going.  "I  did 
not,  of  course,  relish  the  thought  of  spending  all 
my  life  alone,"  she  continued,  laughing  shameless- 
ly. "I  was  very  young,  you  may  remember.  So 
I  determined  to  save  up  all  I  could  of  my  income. 
It  was  easy  enough,  living,  as  I  did,  with  a  person 
who  was  most  of  the  time  a  helpless  invalid.  Then, 
my  uncle,  von  Hesselt,  realising  the  injustice  done 
[307] 


DESPOTISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
me  by  my  aunt,  left  in  his  will  a  considerable  sum 
of  money,  which  was  to  be  paid  me  if  I  lost  my 
aunt's  fortune  through  marrying  an  American. 
This  was  no  more  than  fair,  as  my  aunt  left  the 
money  to  the  von  Hesselts  in  case  I  should  marry 
an  American.  My  lawyers  here  have  assured  me 
that  it  is  an  open  question  whether  I  could  not, 
after  all,  marry  whom  I  will,  and  retain  the  money, 
because  the  terms  of  the  reversion  to  the  von  Hes- 
selts are  very  obscure,  and  it  might  come  at  last  to 
my  aunt's  heirs-at-law,  of  which  I  am  the  chief. 
But  I  hate  publicity  and  lawsuits  and  all  such 
things,  and  as  I  am  still  reasonably  well  off,  I  con- 
cluded to  spare  myself  such  agonies,  and  to  be  sat- 
isfied with  much  less  than  I  have  now.  But  it  will 
be  enough  to  give  me  all  I  want  in  any  event.  I  can 
keep  this  house,  my  carriage  and  servants,  and 
dress  well.  What  more  does  any  one  want?" 

As  she  continued  speaking,  Thorndyke's  agony 
increased  with  every  word.  If  only  he  had  known 
before !  Possibly — ah,  how  vain  now  was  it !  How 
hopeless,  how  full  of  everlasting  pain ! 

"But,"   Constance   kept   on,   "Mr.    Cathcart  is 
not  the  man  for  whom  I  should  sacrifice  even  so 
[308] 


WAR    AND    PEACE 

much.  He  has  never  hinted  that  I  should  marry 
him.  I  am  sure  he  does  not  want  me.  I  cannot 
imagine  how  such  an  absurd  report  got  out." 

Thorndyke  felt  stunned.  He  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment : 

"So  you  are  not  engaged  to  Cathcart?" 

"Certainly  not.  Have  I  not  just  said  that  he 
has  never  asked  me  to  marry  him?  And  that  he 
is  not  the  man  for  whom  I  would  sacrifice  any  part 
of  my  fortune  ?" 

She  emphasised  the  "he,"  and  her  words  were  full 
of  meaning. 

Poor  Thorndyke  was  so  dazed,  so  overwhelmed, 
that  he  could  do  nothing  but  stare  stupidly  into 
Constance's  face.  The  man  who  really  loves  and 
suffers  is  generally  stupid  at  the  supreme  moment. 
And  as  she  looked  into  his  eyes,  so  full  of  longing 
and  yet  half -despairing,  she  turned  her  head  aside 
and  held  out  her  hand  a  little  way,  and  he  caught 
it  in  his. 


Ten  minutes  afterward  Scipio  Africanus  poked 
his  head  in  the  door  and  saw  that  which  made  his 
[309] 


DESPOTISM    AND    DEMOCRACY 
eyeballs  bulge  an  inch  from  his  head.    At  the  same 
moment  the  bell  rang  sharply. 

Scipio  opened  the  front  door,  and,  announcing 
that  Miss  Maitland  was  at  home,  showed  Julian 
Crane  and  Annette  into  the  drawing-room.  As 
they  walked  briskly  to  the  fireplace,  they  saw  the 
two  persons  on  the  sofa  start  apart.  Thorndyke 
rose  to  his  feet.  Having  been  accepted,  he  was  once 
more  master  of  himself  and  of  the  situation.  Con- 
stance cowered  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa. 

"Pray  excuse  us,"  cried  Annette,  laughing, 
blushing,  and  hesitating. 

"There  is  nothing  to  excuse,"  replied  Thorn- 
dyke,  smiling  coolly.  "Miss  Maitland  has  just 
promised  to  marry  me.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know 
why,  but  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  her  all  the 
same." 

Annette  reached  out  and  took  Thorndyke's  hand 
in  hers. 

"I  know  why,"  she  said,  "any  woman  would 
know  why." 

Crane  shook  Thorndyke's  hand  warmly. 

Constance,  too,  rose,  and  without  a  word,  but 
with    rapture    in    her    eyes    and    smile,    received 
[310] 


WAR    AND    PEACE 

Annette's  kiss  and   Crane's   cordial  grasp   of  the 
hand. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Annette,  "you  are  too  bliss- 
fully happy  to  be  interested  in  anything  now,  but 
when  you  come  to  your  senses,  I  am  sure  both  of 
you  will  rejoice  with  us.  We  have  just  had  a  de- 
spatch from  Senator  Bicknell,  saying  my  husband 
was  elected  Senator  at  four  o'clock  to-day  on  the 
fifth  ballot." 

And  then  Crane  spoke,  with  sincerity  in  his  eye 
and  his  smile: 

"We  came  straight  to  you  for  sympathy  in  our 
good  fortune,  for  which  we  are  wholly  indebted  to 
Senator  Bicknell.  And  we  find  you  enjoying  the 
good  fortune  that  befell  us  ten  years  ago.  Ah,  there 
is  no  such  good  fortune  on  this  earth,  Thorndyke, 
as  a  good  wife !" 


THE    END 


[311] 


Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


J5R* 

OCT* 


1990 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


L  006  064  323  6 


